Phoenix
by Mandymoo488
Summary: A cliché title, to be sure. But out of quite literal ashes, something new and wonderful comes. Shules. Some Shawn whump in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I don't own any of the recognizable characters. I wrote while season 5 was airing, so it's kind of A/U now. It basically happens after season 4 (though I may have included little details here and there from some of season 5 . . . I don't entirely remember). The story's already written, so I'll be updating regularly (probably every 3 days or so). As always, reviews are appreciated!

* * *

"I'm gonna drive Jules home," Shawn whispered to his dad. Henry nodded and lightly touched his son's shoulder.

She was standing, huddled by her car, hair dripping, with a blanket clutched around her. The hollow look in her eyes hurt Shawn more than he could express in words. "Come on, Jules," he said softly, pulling her with him by a gentle hand on her elbow.

Nothing could lighten this situation. In an effort to avenge the in-the-line-of-duty murder of his wife, a psychotic arsonist, Benjamin Prescott had followed Juliet to her childhood home.

...

"But, Jules, it's our annual Bourne trilogy marathon night! It only happens once a year!"

"Thanks for the invite, Shawn, but it's my parents' wedding anniversary. They're having a big party and I'll get to see all my brothers . . . I wouldn't miss it for the world."

...

They'd been driving for nearly an hour before Shawn ventured to say anything. "Are you hungry? I have some Cheez-It's in my bag."

She gave him a courteous glance before answering simply, "Not really."

He sighed and turned his attention back onto the road.

...

Shawn and Gus were arguing over whether Vanilla Custard or French Vanilla frozen yogurt tasted better with Reese's Pieces when they noticed Henry, the Chief, and Lassie all charging in the opposite direction—towards the door.

"Dad! Dad, what's going on?"

"Stay here, Shawn," Henry paused long enough to say.

"Dad?" he ran to keep up, Gus trailing behind him. "Dad, where are you going?"

"Palm Springs. Stay here, Shawn."

"Why is everybody in such a hurry?" Gus questioned.

Shawn stood, head cocked, obviously focused on something.

"Shawn? Shawn?"

"Juliet," Shawn whispered.

"What? Where is she?"

"Palm Springs."

...

It had been three hours of complete silence. Juliet hadn't ventured a word since turning down Shawn's snack. He was beginning to worry about leaving her alone that night. When he put the car in gear in front of her house, she numbly opened the door and started walking. He quickly ran around the front of the car and opened the gate for her.

She would've gone in on her own and shut and locked the door firmly behind her, but her hands were shaking so badly she couldn't fit the key in the lock.

"Damn it!" she exclaimed.

"Let me help," he said softly, taking the key from her hand.

"God, Shawn," she whispered, beginning to feel light-headed.

"Hey, Jules," he soothed, as she fought the sobs beginning to bubble up from a depth that unnerved easy-going Shawn Spencer.

"It's gone; it's all gone," she sobbed.

...

By the time the fire trucks had arrived, the O'Hara home was engulfed in flames. Though none of the family was home, every childhood memory—every photograph, every drawing, every academic achievement trophy—was completely torched.

Juliet arrived in Lassie's car hours later to find the rubble of the home she'd grown up in. She walked through the ashes and picked up a few things that had survived the fire—some jewelry and the firebox her dad had kept.

She'd managed to numb herself to all the emotions of the day and was quite proud of herself—until she couldn't stop her hands from shaking on the car ride home.

...

"I know, Jules. I know." He deftly opened the door with one hand and held her head against his shoulder with the other while her grief forced its way out. Once he had the door closed behind them, he squared her shoulders to his and looked her in the eye, gently wiping her tears with his thumbs. "But you're safe—you're all safe."

She nodded and the tears seemed to slow.

"You need to sleep; I'm gonna go."

He hung her keys on the hook and opened the front door, mid-step when he felt her hand on his arm.

"Don't leave."

"Jules?"

"Please don't leave me, Shawn . . . not . . . not tonight."

"I'll sleep on the couch," he agreed, shutting—and considerately locking—the door.

She nodded. "Thank you. There are blankets in the hall closet."

"Good night, Jules."

He'd barely readied his bed when he heard a slight whimper from her bedroom. He got up and walked toward her open bedroom door.

"Shawn?" she whispered.

"Juliet?"

"Don't leave me alone."

"I'm right here, Jules."

"But I can't sleep alone tonight."

"Do you want me to sleep on the floor in here?"

"Just come here."

"On . . . the bed?"

"Just stay till I'm asleep."

"Ok."

He sat on the bed next to her until he was sure she was asleep and then gently stood up.

"Shawn," she whimpered, "don't leave me."

"I'm here for you, Jules. I'll always be here." He lay out on the empty side of her bed, facing her.

She clung to his shirt buttons for some sense of security. It was then he realized just how close her face was to his. He barely caught his breath as her eyes roved his face.

She knew he wanted to kiss her. She warmed at the realization that it was only his respect for her that held him back. In a moment of impulsivity, she leaned in and kissed him. She felt his whole body tighten in shock before it bypassed his brain and responded eagerly.

He'd completely lost his head until he realized he was fiddling with the hook on her bra. He sat up suddenly.

"Shawn?"

"I should sleep in the living room." He stood up and without looking back, charged straight to the couch.

"Shawn!" she called after him.

Before he could even close his eyes, she'd followed him—stripped naked and wrapped in a sheet, she sat on the coffee table.

"Jules!" he exclaimed, throwing a blanket over his head honorably.

"Please, Shawn," she whimpered pitifully. "Help me _know_ that I'm safe."

"This isn't a good idea, Jules," he muttered.

She reached for his hand and squeezed it encouragingly. "I want this tonight, Shawn."

Everything in his head told him the honorable thing was to turn her down. But hearing her begging him for something he so badly wanted himself was impossible for him to ignore. He dropped his blanket and just looked at her for a moment.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered.

"Please, Shawn—just for tonight."

He touched her cheek intimately, reveling in the feeling of her skin under his fingertips. She moved beside him on the couch and ran her hand across his chest. He couldn't fight it anymore. He ever so slowly leaned in and began to kiss her, gradually growing more demanding as he further convinced himself it was truly what she wanted.

Within a few minutes, he'd well past his point of no return.

...

The sun streaming in the front window interrupted Shawn's sleep. Before he was fully aware of what he was doing, his nose was buried in Juliet's hair, feeling calmed by her scent and the feeling of her head resting peacefully in the crook of his arm. As his memory slowly woke, he sighed. "Oh, Jules," he grunted.

He managed to get up off the couch without fully waking her and dressed himself quickly. He decided to pick up some breakfast for them and thoughtfully wrote her a note, not wanting her to think he'd just disappeared on her after the night before. He posted the sticky note on a vase on the coffee table right in her eye line. He grabbed his keys and turned the doorknob, but stopped and looked back at her. Realizing it may be the last time he was ever offered the privilege, he ran his hand over her hair and kissed her forehead—resting his lips just longer than he really needed to.

...

She felt amazing and nervous and a bit scared as she waited for Shawn to return with their breakfast. She didn't regret anything that had happened the night before, but she didn't want to face the reality that their relationship _had_ to adjust now. Relationship.

"Is that what I want?" she whispered to herself. "Me and Shawn . . . Shawn and me . . ." she smiled and went to shower and change.

...

After assuring himself that she was in the shower, Shawn sat down at the kitchen table and started eating. When she walked out in her bathrobe with her hair dripping, he couldn't help but stare.

"Morning," he whispered.

"Morning." She sat down at the table and he handed her the food he'd picked up.

They ate in silence for quite some time. Shawn, letting Juliet set the tone. Juliet, afraid she'd say something to spoil the tenuous beginning of a relationship they had.

Shawn's cell phone ring was a welcome interruption.

"It's Gus," he said apologetically.

"Go ahead," she said brightly.

"Hey, buddy."

"Shawn, where are you. We had a ten-'o-clock this morning."

"Hey . . . I'm . . . I'm at Juliet's."

"Oh . . . how is she?"

"I . . . we haven't really talked yet."

"Well, you do what you need to do, but you better get down here soon. We have another appointment this afternoon and I'm losing valuable work time at my _real_ job for this."

"Is Gus mad?"

"Nah . . . he'd do the same thing."

She grinned at him.

"You . . . you seem in good spirits this morning," Shawn ventured.

She shrugged, but didn't say anything.

"You . . . you're not mad . . . about last night?"

"Why would I be mad? You did exactly what I asked."

He nodded and returned his focus to his food, noting the fact that she completely sidestepped any reference to _them_ and simply acknowledged their actions. They ate in silence until Shawn stood to throw his trash away and asked, "Are you done?"

"Do you . . . want to shower?"

"I don't have anything to change into, so I'm going to go home."

"Sure."

"You'll be all right?"

"I'm good, Shawn; thanks."

"You should stay home today," he recommended. "Get some rest."

"I think I'd rather be working . . ."

"So . . . I . . . may see you?"

"I'm sure if something comes up, we'll call."

He nodded, took a long, lingering look at her and reached for the doorknob. He got to the gate before he heard her voice.

"Shawn?"

He turned around.

"Thank you."

He sighed, slightly disappointed she didn't want to say more. "Anytime, Jules."

He'd realized only _after_ she'd shut the door that he had no way of getting home. An extremely unhappy Gus picked him up ten minutes later.

"Next time, plan better," Gus greeted.

"She needed me, Man."

"Well, we need money for our _business_, Shawn. You couldn't have set an alarm or something?"

"It's not like I _planned_ to be here, Gus. You think I _planned_ this?"

Gus glanced over at his friend. "I don't think I deserve that tone, Shawn. Not after driving out of my way to come pick you up after you missed a very important meeting to our partnership."

"I told you, I didn't plan it."

"But you certainly didn't take the time to let me know you wouldn't be there. How about some consideration, Shawn."

"Gus, I was up half the night and I haven't showered in almost two days. Can we please not do this now?"

"What's got you so Tasmanian Devil, Shawn?"

"That's not even funny, Gus."

"Seriously? What's your problem?"

"My problem?"

"You've been on my back ever since I came to pick you up. What happened last night?"

"I slept with Juliet!"

Silence. Shawn rubbed his face with his hands.

"I slept with Juliet," he repeated, barely believing the words himself. "And before you go all Judge Judy on me, she _asked _me to. She didn't want to be alone last night. I was all set up on the couch and she came in naked and asked."

"Naked, Shawn?"

"Really. I even tried not to look at her—I _tried_ to be honorable for once in my life and I just _couldn't_ say no to her . . . not last night."

"Did she say anything this morning?"

"She said thank you."

"That's it?"

"She thanked me for doing what she'd asked."

"So . . . nothing's supposed to change?"

Shawn shrugged. "I guess we're doing Moonlighting."

"You realize that makes me Bert, right?"

"Well, we could be Ross and Rachel."

"Which time?"

"The second time. The one with the tape. But then you'd have to be Chandler or Joey and you're not Italian, nor do you have a transvestite father."

"There's always Meredith and Derek," Gus contributed.

"Dr. McDreamy, huh? Thanks, Buddy."

"I'll be Bert."

...

It was almost two weeks before Psych got called into the SBPD for a case. Shawn hadn't called Juliet for fear of being overbearing and Juliet hadn't called Shawn interpreting his lack of discussion about their night as regret and disinterest. She wasn't in when they got there and Shawn didn't see her for several hours. Gus noticed his lack of focus and pulled him aside.

"Shawn, may I remind you we have a _job_ to do?"

"I'm sorry. I can't stop thinking . . ."

" . . . about Juliet," Gus interrupted. "I know, but we need to _do_ this."

He nodded and took a deep breath, but the first thing he saw when he turned around was her.

"Shawn," she whispered.

"Jules," he greeted softly.

Lassiter glanced between them a few times before saying, "I don't know if you two noticed, but we have a dead body in here. I'm going to give you exactly two minutes to sort out whatever this staring match is and then I expect you both . . . O'Hara, I expect _you_ to act like a professional."

Lassiter pulled McNab and the other guys out of the room and Gus obediently followed, leaving the pair alone.

"Hi," he whispered.

"Hi."

"Been a . . . couple of weeks, hasn't it."

"It has."

Shawn felt the time ticking away, but he noticed something. "My watch."

"Your . . ."

"You're wearing my watch," he whispered.

"I . . . uh . . . you left it on the coffee table . . . I . . . I was waiting . . ."

He took her hands in his impulsively. "Dinner. Tomorrow night."

She couldn't conceal the flash of excitement that sparked in her eyes.

Shawn felt his confidence soar. "Will you?"

"Of course," she whispered. "I'd love to."

"Can we get back to the real work now?" Lassiter prompted, re-entering the room.

...

The case was easily solved and Shawn was tying up loose ends at the station the next afternoon. He stopped by Juliet's desk on his way out. She was obviously packing up to leave for the day.

"So, where do you want to go tonight?"

He saw panic flash across her face. "Actually . . . I meant to talk to you about that. I . . . I have plans tonight."

"You . . . you're canceling?"

She pulled him into the hall and away from prying ears. "Shawn, it seemed like a good idea, but I really think we should just forget what happened and move on. We should just . . . get over it. I'm sorry." She squeezed his arm and walked away. Gus walked up just in time to hear her apology.

"Did she . . ."

"Leave her hand on your arm just a little longer than necessary and then leave a lingering caress?"

"Yeah."

"Yes she did."

He ran after her.

"Jules, hold on a second."

"I'm late, Shawn."

"I only need a second. I can't stop thinking about you. I don't want to 'get over' what happened. I want to remember it over and over. So Jules," he bent down impulsively on two knees, right in the parking lot, "will you . . . be my girlfriend?"

She smiled in spite of herself, but quickly regained her sullen pallor. "There's something you don't know, Shawn."

"Then tell me . . . everything. I want to know everything about you. I want to be as much a part of you as you are of me."

She turned and faced him, finally fully looking him in the eye. "I . . . I'm pregnant, Shawn."

"Pregnant?"

"We were impulsive and spontaneous and unprepared that night. We can't just be a couple anymore." She got in her car and left him kneeling in the parking lot.

* * *

A/N: Special thanks to BriniGirl for drawing my attention to the fact that my scene divisions disappeared during upload!


	2. Chapter 2

He hadn't planned on ending up on his dad's doorstep, but that's exactly where his hour-long drive to no where in particular had ended.

"Shawn, did you leave your bike on my lawn again?"

"Why would I do a thing like that, Dad?"

"Because you do it every time and it ruins my lawn. Go move your bike, Shawn."

"It's not hurting anything, Dad. Don't be a Mr. Wilson."

"Move your bike, Shawn!"

"Why are you always yelling at me for no reason? I parked on the street; give me _some_ credit."

"Well you could've just answered my question in the first place instead of giving me the run around. Now, what are you doing here? I'm leaving early in the morning to go fishing."

"Juliet's pregnant," Shawn whispered.

Henry froze. "Like . . . the kind of pregnant that makes me a grandfather pregnant?"

Shawn nodded.

"What happened, Shawn? I didn't even know you two were dating."

"We're not."

Henry held up his hand. "I can already tell this story requires coffee."

Once settled on the couch, coffee in hand, Shawn related the whole story.

"She wanted to go out with you before she knew, didn't she?"

"I'm _sure_ she did."

"So she must have just found out today and panicked."

"I guess."

Henry sat deep in thought for a moment. "Are you going to marry her?"

"I don't know, Dad. I don't know if she'd marry me. I don't even know if . . . if she's planning on _having_ the . . . the . . ."

"You didn't ask if she was planning on keeping it?"

"I couldn't speak, Dad."

"It just seems like a logical question to ask."

"Logical?" Shawn stood and began pacing. "Dad, someone I've harbored poorly-concealed feelings for and had what I hoped wouldn't be a one-night stand with just informed me that I'm going to be a fa . . . fa . . ." He gripped the mantle for support as he felt light headed.

"Shawn, sit down."

"I feel like I just ate an entire family-size bag of Bugles by myself. I may fall down."

"Shawn!" Henry exclaimed, leading him back to his seat on the couch.

"Is this what morning sickness feels like?"

"Dads don't get morning sickness, Shawn."

"Dads," he whispered. "Dad, I can't be someone's _father_. I don't even brush my _own_ teeth every night!"

Henry smiled. "Shawn, the day you were born was the single most maturing day of my life."

"I don't want to be an adult yet, Dad. I would've asked Juliet out a long time ago if I was ready to move into adulthood."

"What does that mean, Shawn? Why does that make a difference?"

Shawn cocked his head. "Juliet's a _real_ commitment, Dad. I knew as soon as we went there we were _really_ moving towards something."

"Do you want to spend the rest of your life with her, Shawn—baby or not?"

"I never want to spend a day without her."

"Then talk to her, at least. Find out what her plans are—what she's thinking—and how she sees you fitting into that."

"That's a good idea. Talk to her."

"And Shawn?"

"Yeah, Dad?"

"Let me know how it goes."

...

"What are you doing here, Shawn?"

"Can I come in?"

She opened the door just wide enough for him to enter. He turned around immediately and looked at her.

"I know you haven't had very much time to think about this but I've had even less time and I think we should be able to talk about it together. I think we should get everything out in the open. So, I'll go first. I like you, Juliet. I've liked you for a very long time and I've been too afraid of what we could have to be serious about it. But I can't imagine my life without you and I would marry you on the spot if I had to choose between that and losing you. So, if you'll have me, I'll be your husband—baby or not."

"Baby or not . . . Shawn, what does that mean?"

"Well . . . I . . ."

"Did you think I was going to . . ."

"Well, I assumed it might be an option."

"Even though it came as a complete surprise, Shawn, I'm . . . a little excited about having this baby . . . having your baby," she tagged on honestly.

"Then marry me," he repeated.

She squeezed his hand. "Let's take this one step at a time, Shawn. Let's do the baby thing first and then talk about marriage."

"Well, at least let me be a part of it. Let me shop with you and set the crib up and go to the doctor and . . . and . . . take care of you . . . both of you."

She looked at him for a second and then wrapped her arms around his neck. "Ok."

"I can . . . I can . . . have this baby too?"

"You _are_ a part of it, Shawn. You're a part of _me_ now—I couldn't—_wouldn't_—do it without you."

He smiled. "And . . . and us . . ."

"We can figure us out later."

He kissed her cheek and resumed the embrace. "It's so good to have you in my arms again, Jules."

She sighed. "It's good to be here."

...

They weren't obviously a couple, but something had changed between them—the chief and Lassiter had both noticed. Shawn paid a lot more attention to her comfort and she asked his opinion more, but they almost never came in physical contact. Sure, he helped her out of a ditch in the desert on that case a few weeks before. And his name had been the first one she'd called in the abandoned factory earlier that month. But was that really a change?

After a particularly grueling case, Lassiter noted that Shawn hadn't changed clothes since the previous day—at which point Juliet invited him to move some clothes and a toothbrush over "just in case".

"What were you doing last night, O'Hara?" Lassiter finally pried after almost six weeks of ridiculously suspicious interactions between them.

"I was at home."

"I know Spencer was with you and you look . . . terrible."

"Thank you, Carlton. I was throwing up all night and Shawn was taking care of me. Is that detailed enough for you?"

"Shouldn't you be at home?"

She shrugged, but he noticed the color drain out of her face as she felt him zeroing in on what up until now had been a secret between herself, Shawn, and Henry—Shawn, at her request, hadn't even told Gus yet.

"Wait a second . . . you and Spencer have been acting weird for weeks . . . now you're mysteriously sick but not sick and he's spending the night? What's going on, O'Hara?"

"Nothing. Nothing's going on, Carlton. Leave it alone."

His eyes narrowed. "You're not . . ."

"Please, Carlton," she begged.

"You couldn't be . . . you wouldn't still be working if you were . . ."

"Carlton, _please_." She was starting to cry.

"Hey, Lassie, did your hair gardener use a tractor this time?" Shawn greeted. He immediately prickled when he surveyed the situation. He moved to stand behind Juliet. "Are you ok?" he whispered, hand on her shoulder. She put her hand over her mouth, trying to keep from crying.

"You little bastard got my partner pregnant," Carlton hissed.

"You told him?" Shawn exclaimed.

"No," she whimpered, burying her face in her hands.

"Hey," he knelt beside her, wiping her tears with his thumbs, "you don't need to cry. It's ok."

Lassie stared, dumbfounded. "Can _someone_ please explain to me what's going on?"

Shawn squeezed Juliet's shoulder. "I need to go talk to Gus."

She nodded and touched his hand briefly, giving him permission to go. "Shawn and I are . . . having a baby," she stated succinctly, regaining her composure. "I'm due in June."

"O'Hara, why didn't you tell me you two were dating?"

"We're not."

"O'Hara . . ."

"I can't explain it to you, Carlton. Don't judge him. It was all my choice."

...

"Hey, Buddy, want to go get some ice cream?"

"Don't we have to finish our case, Shawn?"

"We need to talk, Gus."

Gus was startled by the absolute gravity in Shawn's voice.

They were walking on the pier in silence for a while before Gus prompted, "Shawn, is something wrong?"

"Not exactly. Things are just changing, Gus."

"How so? Did Juliet finally agree to go out with you?"

"No . . . not really. But . . . Gus . . . Jules is . . . Jules is pregnant. I'm going to be a . . . a . . ."

"A father, Shawn? I'm going to be Uncle Burton?"

Shawn nodded.

"Boy or girl?"

Shawn didn't say anything until Gus slapped his hands away from his temples.

"I thought it was worth a try."

Gus shook his head and started to walk back toward his car.

...

Shawn was pacing back and forth in the waiting room.

"Shawn, sit down!" Juliet hissed.

"I can't!" he responded.

"Juliet," the nurse called.

"Oh, thank goodness," she breathed, standing and following Shawn to the room they were guided to by the nurse. But when they got to the door, Shawn felt her hand on his arm. He turned to look at her.

"Wait here," she whispered.

"But, Jules . . ."

"Just for the questions and the exams . . . you can come in for the ultrasound."

He sighed and nodded submissively. He waited in the hall, playing Duel on his phone impatiently until he was admitted inside.

"Come here," she whispered, offering him her hand.

"This'll probably feel a little cold," the tech instructed. Shawn felt Juliet flinch as the cold gel made contact with her skin.

"And there it is," the tech stated. "A healthy little heartbeat."

Juliet turned to look at Shawn. He was trying to fight crying. He began snapping at the nurse. "Chair," he choked. She grinned to herself and brought him the chair.

"Well, that's all for today," the tech stated. "You two take all the time you need."

Still holding Juliet's hand, Shawn buried his head in her hair. She reached up and touched his face.

"This is really happening," he whispered.

"It is."

He stood up, allowed his eyes to rove her face, and briefly kissed her lips. "Thank you."

"For . . .?"

"Letting me be a part."

...

Shawn could already see the tiny bump that had begun to form. She'd already informed him that in two weeks they'd be shopping for maternity clothes. Shawn was eating Doritos and watching talk shows when Gus came in.

"Shawn, Juliet is here to see you."

Shawn immediately took his feet off the desk and turned off the TV. "Jules, hey. Is something wrong?"

"I'm going home for Christmas," she stated, getting straight to the point. "And I think you should come with me."

"You . . . you mean . . . you want me to actually be _in_ the room when your father finds out that someone had sex with his daughter?"

She smiled. "Shawn, he's our baby's grandfather. You're going to be in his life for a couple of decades. You really want his first impression to be the guy that didn't have enough balls to face him and tell him he was the father of our child?"

Shawn slouched. "I'll go home with you for Christmas. But you're coming to my New Year's party."

"Deal."


	3. Chapter 3

He'd been chatty the whole car ride—that is, until they turned onto Juliet's oldest brother, Mark's street.

"Shawn?" Juliet prompted. He didn't answer. "Shawn, what are you doing?" She glanced away from the road for a second to look at him. "Are you Lamaze breathing?"

"It helps Gus, ok?"

She pulled slowly into the driveway and came to a slow stop. "Don't be nervous."

"You're not nervous because they _love_ you . . . which is _exactly_ what scares me."

She turned off the car and began gathering her things. "My brothers are going to be uncles and my parents will be grandparents." She pulled her keys out of the ignition and opened her door, heading to the trunk where all the gifts were stowed. "They should be excited."

He got out and followed her around to the trunk, offering empty arms for her to load with packages. "I have had very few encounters meeting the parents, Jules. These circumstances are _highly_ unfavorable for it to be the first time. And what are we going to tell them about getting married?"

She slammed the trunk. "Shawn, we talked about that."

"I know what we talked about, Jules, but what are we going to tell _them_?" He trailed after her as she made her way up the walkway, through the picket fence gate.

"The truth? That we're taking it one step at a time."

Shawn tilted his head and looked at her incredulously. "Really, Jules? You think that's going to make the best impression on your dad?"

She knocked on the door. "We'll just . . . cross that bridge when we come to it."

"I'm just hoping there's actually a bridge . . . a zipline would be cool . . . even a hang glider would give me a—"

She elbowed him in the stomach as her mom answered the door.

"Julie!" she exclaimed.

"Hi!" she greeted warmly, returning her mom's embrace.

"Mom, this is Shawn," she introduced.

"Mom?" Shawn exclaimed. "This can't be _mom_ . . . I was assuming woman-of-the-house sister-in-law."

"You are smooth, Shawn," Mrs. O'Hara stated. "Obvious, but smooth."

"You know that's right," Juliet whispered.

Shawn grinned at her as they were ushered into the house. He stood awkwardly clutching his stack of gifts while Juliet greeted her brother, sister-in-law, father, and nephews.

"Dylan will be here in about an hour and he's picking up Ewan at the airport on his way. Regan had to pick up Cheryl at her sister's house before he could come and said he may be a while. But we're so glad you're here!" Mrs. O'Hara spouted as hugs were exchanged all around.

"Ewan's going to be here?" Juliet exclaimed, excited, but more nervous than before.

"Yeah, he said he didn't know how, but he'd managed it," Mark stated.

"Everyone," Juliet began, taking a step nearer to Shawn, "this is Shawn."

Before he knew what had happened, the gifts were under the tree, he'd been hugged by people whose names he didn't even know, and he was sitting on a love seat with a warm cup of cider in his hand.

He was pleasantly engaging in conversation with Mark and Mark's wife—whose name Shawn had yet to learn—for twenty minutes before he found a chance to subtly whisper to Juliet, "Are you all right?"

"I feel like I could throw up I'm so nervous," she whispered back.

"Do you need anything?"

"I need to just get this over with."

"No time like the present."

She nodded and nervously played with the too-long sleeves of the rather large sweater she was wearing to hide the ever-so-slightly-obvious baby bump.

"Mom?" she began.

"That sweater's a little big on you, Julie—have you lost weight?"

Juliet's face reddened. "It's just comfortable, Mom."

Shawn encouragingly interlaced his fingers into hers between them.

"Mom, I have something to tell everyone."

"Rod!" she called into the other room. "Rod, Julie has an announcement to make."

"Oh, God," she whispered, her stomach churning.

"Are you going to hurl?" he asked nervously.

"Who says 'hurl' anymore?" she challenged.

He smiled and squeezed her hand.

Just as Rod made himself comfortable next to his wife—directly across from the now panicked-to-his-core Shawn—the door opened and the commotion now familiar to Shawn as the greeting ritual of the O'Hara home began again. Shawn sighed.

"I'm going to the bathroom," Juliet whispered, standing up.

"To hurl?"

She rolled her eyes. "To _pee_, Shawn—again." She made it to the beginning of the hallway when she heard her name and stopped short.

"Aren't you going to at least say 'hey' before you run off?" Ewan teased.

"Actually, Julie was about to make an announcement," her dad disclosed.

She looked warily around the room, chewing on her thumbnail nervously as she surveyed the eager faces of those who loved her best. When she caught Shawn's eye, he raised his eyebrows—a show of support for whatever she was about to say.

She took a deep breath and tried to find the eyes of whomever she felt would be most understanding. She finally sought solace in the _only_ eyes she knew would support her no matter what. Shawn tipped the corner of his mouth up at her and nodded.

"I . . . I . . ." She shook her head at him subtly.

"I love this game!" he exclaimed, jumping to his feet. "You . . . need some coffee!"

"No," she laughed.

"—ce Cream," he finished.

"No, Shawn."

"Skating? Glasses? Nnnnnstein?"

She shook her head, but as the nephews took over the crazy guessing, she reached for his hand, mouthing, "Thank you."

"Didn't you have some business to take care of?" he whispered.

"Oh, god, yes," she replied, quickly turning on her heel.

"Nobody move!" Shawn exclaimed to the rest of the room. "I have one that you'll _never_ guess!"

Within minutes, Liam had guessed Justin Bieber, and by the time Juliet was out of the restroom, Shawn had run completely out of pre-adolescent boy pop-culture knowledge.

"Are you ready?" he asked out of the corner of his mouth as she passed him.

She took another deep breath and nodded.

"I'm beat," he exclaimed, following her to the loveseat they'd formerly occupied, "but why don't you three boys continue in the kitchen? See who can get the most points in five minutes. I'll give the winner some delicious fresh pineapple!"

He took her hand again as the boys raced to the kitchen.

"So, what is this big news, Juliet?" Ewan prompted, perching on the arm of the couch next to her.

"Well . . . I'm pregnant," she stated abruptly.

All the color drained from Shawn's face as all eyes turned on him in complete silence. He was beginning to think time had actually frozen when Mrs. O'Hara said, "When are you due, Baby Girl?"

He felt Juliet noticeably relax against him. "June," she stated simply.

"Boy or girl?" Dylan asked. Very much like his mom, he desperately wanted to relieve some of the obvious tension in the room.

Shawn, wide-eyed and fearful, noticed only the stony anger on Ewan's face before he walked out onto the porch silently.

"We won't know until February," she answered the kind inquiry.

"We'll know in February?" Shawn responded incredulously.

"Of course. Around five months."

She could tell he was counting.

"What?" she questioned.

"Well, in every birth _I've_ ever seen, they always say "It's a boy" or "It's a girl" so I guess I just assumed there was no way to know until the baby was actually _born_."

"All the births you've seen in _movies_?" she challenged good-naturedly. "I have some books for you," she teased. She then noticed Ewan's absence. "Where did Ewan go?"

"Front yard," Shawn whispered.

"Is he mad?"

"Is Alex P. Keaton conservative?"

She stood up immediately.

"Are you sure it's safe?"

She rolled her eyes. "He's my _brother_, Shawn."

He squeezed her hand and let her go. No sooner had the front door closed behind her than Shawn found himself sitting next to the one person he feared the most—her father.

"Mr. O'Hara," he stated nervously.

Rod proceeded to look him over steadily for a few minutes without saying a word. Shawn pulled at his collar, feeling stifled and well beyond nervous. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Are you going to marry my Juliet?"

"One step at a time," he recited lamely, the words leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

"What in the hell does that mean?"

He turned to look at the father of the woman he loved more than his own life. "It means I was willing to marry her on the spot the day I found out, but she turned me down."

Rod's eyes narrowed. Shawn knew he was treading on dangerous ground making Juliet sound like the bad guy.

"Mr. O'Hara, I don't want to spend a day without your daughter—ever. I'm committed to Juliet and I'm committed to our baby. If ever she'll have me—" he set a jewelry box down on the coffee table in front of them, "—I'll marry her that second."

Rod nodded. "You're a good boy, Shawn." With that, Rod slapped Shawn on the shoulder, stood up, and walked back into the kitchen. He didn't breathe a word about the baby or marriage to Shawn for the rest of the holiday.

"One down, four to go," Shawn whispered to himself, quickly eyeing his surroundings. Dylan was already on his side, he could tell from his incessant effort to put everyone else at ease. Mark was eyeing Shawn warily, but a quick word from his dad seemed to stifle any contempt the oldest brother held for him. He had yet to meet Regan, but imagined a newly-engaged brother may be easy to win if he worked first through the doe-eyed fiancée.

Ewan would be the challenge. Just as Shawn began formulating his strategy, Juliet burst through the front door and ran up the stairs without a word to anyone. Shawn stood immediately and moved toward the bottom of the stairs—at which point he nearly ran into Mrs. O'Hara. He quickly searched her face, himself wondering if it wouldn't be a better idea for her to go.

"Go, Shawn. It's obviously not the first time and I'm sure it won't be the last," she whispered.

His mouth was open and he shifted the bottom half of his jaw over before nodding once and following Juliet's trail up to a bathroom upstairs. He rapped his knuckles lightly against the door.

"Jules?" He heard only a stifled sob. He opened the door to see her curled up against the bathtub, sleeves soaking wet with her tears. Without even a second thought, he sat down beside her.

"He called me a slut," she whispered. "He said I was throwing away everything for a . . . a waste of a man," she uttered, barely audible.

"Well, I always knew your brother was a smart man."

She shook her head, a pained look on her face and turned to meet his eyes, setting her hand in his. "I love you, Shawn."

"You . . . you do?"

"Of course I do. Ewan just kept going on and on about how disappointed he was—not in me, but in my choice and everything in me just got so _mad_ at him. I know it was impulsive and probably a little foolish, but I still don't regret asking you to stay that night."

He moved in to kiss her, but she quickly stated, "Close talking again?"

He opened his eyes enough to see that her eyes were closed. "Do you know what I said to my dad after you left me kneeling in the SBPD parking lot?"

"What?" she breathed.

"That I knew as soon as I asked you out we'd be moving somewhere serious. And that I never want to spend a day without you."

"Anything else I should know?" she asked, tilting her head just enough so that her lips rested against his.

"That I love you more than Gus loves spelling," he whispered.

She smiled and opened her eyes. "Do you have anything else to say?"

"No," he whispered.

"Well, I might," she stated quickly, finally making complete contact with his lips. Every feeling and sensation from that first night came rushing back to her as the kiss quickly escalated.

"We can't do this," he finally stated, pulling himself away from her.

"You're right," she agreed, breathless. "One step at a time, right?"

He kissed her hand. "Whatever you say, Jules."

As he moved to open the door, she pulled him back and looked straight up into his eyes.

"Shawn?"

"Yes, Jules?"

"I don't regret a moment."

He left a lingering kiss on her cheek before opening the bathroom door for her and following her—his hand tightly enclosing hers—down the stairs.

...

Just before dinner was served, Mrs. O'Hara managed to extricate her daughter from the devoted embrace of her . . . she didn't know what to call him.

"First of all, Julie, what do we call him?"

She shrugged. "We're taking it one step at a time, Mom."

"You're not wearing a ring; didn't he propose?"

Juliet pulled the green bean casserole out of the oven. "He did. I turned him down. I don't want him to marry me just because of the baby."

"Oh, my sweet girl. He obviously cares a great deal for you."

She smiled what seemed to be a secret smile to herself. "He does."

Mrs. O'Hara paused and eyed her daughter curiously. "It was the night of the fire, wasn't it?"

Juliet flushed and uttered, "Mom!"

"He was trying to comfort you and it just went too far?" she pressed.

Juliet shook her head. "It wasn't like that at all."

"Tell me how it was."

Juliet sighed. "He took me home and I broke down the minute I walked in the door." She looked up at her mom. "He never did anything I didn't ask him to do, Mom. I asked him to stay and he made up the couch. I asked him to come to bed because I was afraid and he offered to sleep on the floor, then settled on sitting—_sitting, _Mom—on the bed next to me. I asked him to spend the night. I kissed_ him_ and even then he stopped just in time and tried to sleep in the living room again."

"What happened, Julie, baby?"

She flushed bright red. "I followed him in nothing but a sheet and _asked_ him to make love to me."

Colleen O'Hara just nodded, not sure what to think of her daughter's overt advances in the midst of trauma.

"But I love him, Mom. And I'm happy. I'd honestly be happy to spend the rest of my life as Juliet Spencer."

"So, what do we call him, Love—for now?"

"Boyfriend, I guess."

...

While everyone else had an after-dinner beer or glass of wine, Juliet drank the sparkling cider intended for the boys. Dylan sidled up next to her against the kitchen counter.

"Congratulations, Little Sister."

"Thanks, Dyl," she stated gratefully, beaming under his approval. He followed her gaze to where Shawn was teaching Isaac how to grind a cereal box with a finger skateboard.

"He'll make a good dad."

"Will he?"

"You're not sure?" He looked down at his much-shorter younger sister.

She shrugged. "He's kind of flighty. I get the impression from his best friend that he tends to be irresponsible. He's very . . . impulsive."

"Says the girl that seduced him for one night only."

"Tell me he didn't tell you that."

"Of course not."

"I should've known better than to tell Mom everything."

"She wants to make sure we all know that he's _your_ choice—that he didn't trick you or pressure you or anything."

"He didn't."

"I know!" he laughed. "But look at him, Julie. He's _here_. And everybody loves him. I think you—you _both_—are in good hands."

...

It was only eight-o'-clock when Ewan stood up. "My ride's here—I've gotta go." Again, Shawn observed the O'Hara greeting ritual. Shawn and Juliet were closest to the door and, thus, the last to receive goodbyes.

"Take care of yourself, Julie," he whispered as he enveloped her in his very ample personage.

He reached for Shawn's hand and yanked him roughly into a mock hug. "My parents both gave me a lecture on how I should treat you," he hissed menacingly, "but if I ever find out you hurt my sister, there will be hell to pay." He moved to back up, but Shawn tightened his grip.

"And if you ever call my Juliet a slut again, I'll spend my dying breath inflicting the greatest possible pain I can on you."

Ewan smiled ever so slightly. "We may be all right after all, Spencer."

...

Shawn genuinely enjoyed the rest of the night with the O'Haras. He found himself at ease and almost at home in their company. Juliet, on the other hand, found herself oddly at home in his arms. As her head began to feel heavy, she didn't even give it a second thought as she dropped her head in his lap—just to rest for a moment.

She'd been asleep for almost an hour when he started rubbing her arm to rouse her.

"Jules, we should go. You need to go to bed."

"I'm so comfy," she murmured, rolling over onto her back.

"Come on, Sleeping Beauty," he whispered. "We have a bit of a drive ahead of us and it's getting late."

Regan's fiancée, Cheryl, got a bit of a mischievous gleam in her eye. "The prince had to _kiss_ Sleeping Beauty to wake her, Shawn."

Shawn felt his face heat up and he looked down at her. "Is that what I have to do, Jules?"

He saw the corner of her mouth tip up ever so slightly. Placing a hand on either side of her face, he leaned down and engaged in the first _real_ kiss he'd been permitted. She reached up and touched his shoulder, waiting until he sat back up before sitting up herself.

"Told you," Cheryl teased.

Shawn stood and helped Juliet to stand beside him. He followed her around the family circle, ending with her mom.

"Julie, get some good maternity clothes—don't hide anymore, all right?"

"We're going shopping next week," Shawn assured her.

"And you," she kissed him on the cheek and squeezed his upper arm, "don't be a stranger, Shawn Spencer. And take good care of them."

"I absolutely promise you, Mrs. O'Hara, I'd give my life for either one of them."

As soon as the door shut behind them, Juliet grabbed Shawn's hand. "Tell me it will never come to that, Shawn—your life or ours. I don't want to do this without you."

He fingered the jewelry box in his coat pocket as he opened her passenger door. "It is never my intention to leave you, Jules."

She handed him the keys and he walked around the car, immediately adjusting the mirrors, the seat, and the steering wheel when he sat down.

"Do you mind if I sleep a little?"

"You do all the sleeping you need to do."

...

"Shawn, what are you doing here?"

"Gus, we _work_ here."

"You haven't been here in weeks and it's the day after Christmas. I didn't expect to see you."

"Well, I'm here. We have to take some cases—make some money. I have a family to take care of now."

"How is Juliet?"

Shawn shrugged. "Fine, I guess. Her clothes are getting tight, so we're going shopping tonight.

"My dad wants to have us over for dinner Friday, can you make it?"

"The three of us?"

Shawn nodded.

"Sure." Gus took a seat at his desk. "How was Christmas with Juliet's family?"

"Good, bad, ugly, and wonderful."

"You don't have any bruises."

"If looks could kill, Ewan would be a murderer—again."

"And the wonderful . . .?"

"She loves me, Gus."

"She said that?"

Shawn nodded. "But she can't."

"Are you saying Juliet is physically incapable of love?"

"Gus, don't be Sheldon from Big Bang Theory. She can't love me because she doesn't know me—not all of me. There's something very specific she doesn't know about me."

Gus sighed. "That's a pretty important conversation." He paused. "Before or after shopping?"

"Haven't decided yet."


	4. Chapter 4

He didn't even knock anymore when he'd called ahead. He just walked right in.

"Hi, Shawn!" she greeted warmly. "Just let me get my shoes."

"Jules, wait," he stated, his voice low and even.

"Is something wrong?" She backtracked into the living room.

"We need to talk—I need to tell you something."

"Ok." She sat down on the couch while he paced in front of the coffee table. "Should I be worried? You're making me nervous."

He shook his head. "I'm the only one that should be nervous."

She watched him walk the length of the living room three times before he paused right in front of her. "You remember that day at the diner—the day we met?"

"Yeah."

"You didn't tell me who you were."

"I was undercover."

"Exactly. I've sort of been undercover."

"Shawn . . . are you . . . like CIA or something?"

"Sign over my life to the government? Of course not." He finally sat down in the recliner facing her. "I was a ne'er-do-well irresponsible kid who couldn't keep a job long enough to earn a real paycheck and didn't stay in any one place long enough to have any real friends.

"You gotta understand, Jules, my dad locked me in a trunk when I was eleven to teach me how to break out. He grilled me everywhere we went on my surroundings. I'm the only kid I know who got a lecture on how to 'pursue a suspect' while playing hide and seek. I'm a crack shot, Jules—ask Conforth—but you've never seen me shoot a gun. That doesn't come from a kid whose dad just let him mess him around. I couldn't watch TV until I hit all five cans off the fence at the shooting range—in a row."

"So your dad was hard on you and you're smart—what does this have to do with now?"

"Jules . . ." he paused and took her hands in his. "I . . . I'm not psychic."

"Oh."

His brow furrowed. "Oh?"

"Oh."

"That's it?"

"What else do you want me to say?"

He reassumed his high-pitched imitation of her from the first day they'd met, saying, "No, 'Shawn, I'm so angry! How could you have lied to me all these years?' or 'How can I ever trust you again?'"

"No."

"No?" Shawn was beyond bewildered.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Oh, Shawn," she stated, rolling her eyes and heading to her room to get her shoes. "I _knew _you weren't psychic."

He followed her. "You know? For how long?"

"A little over a year now, I guess."

"But . . . but . . ."

"Your dad told me, Shawn. The ice cream truck case? He was worried about you . . . we were all worried. He let it slip."

...

"We need to find my son," Henry bellowed, stampeding out of the SBPD.

Juliet trailed close behind him. "Don't you think he'll be all right? I mean, he can avert any danger by knowing it's coming, can't he? He's done stuff like that before, hasn't he?"

"He's lucky."

"Mr. Spencer—"

"Shawn's not a psychic, Detective O'Hara," Henry interrupted, his dwindling determination mingled with despair that Shawn would ever be found overcoming his better judgment. "He's a bright kid with a short attention span and no dedication."

...

"Wait, my dad said I was bright?" Shawn interrupted.

"Of course he did, Shawn. Nobody can deny that."

"So . . . why didn't you ever bring it up?"

Juliet shrugged. "I . . . I liked where we were going. I didn't want to upset the delicate balance we'd seem to have found—didn't want to spoil a potential future.

"I was mad at first and I was about to tell the chief, but then I realized just how brilliant you are. You've solved almost a hundred cases—not counting any private cases I don't know about—completely on your own."

"Well, Gus plays a part."

"Together, then, but either way . . . Shawn, you've found a way to use your skills in a way that not only works for you, but helps other people. I couldn't get in the way of that—even if it makes you do silly things like throw yourself down a flight of stairs or . . . channel a cat channeling an actress doing a ridiculous dance."

He couldn't help but grin. "So, you're not going to rat me out?"

She shook her head. "I decided that as long as you stuck with this Psych thing-and continued doing more good than harm-I'd keep your secret."

"It's the longest I've ever committed to anything," he stated seriously, "except now you and the baby."

She stood and took his hand, leading him out to the car. "So, tell me how you convinced Chief Vick and Carlton."

...

"Dad!" Shawn called, entering without knocking. "Dad, we're here!"

"In the kitchen, Shawn. Steaks are on and will be done in five minutes."

"Mmm, steak," Juliet gushed.

"Juliet," Henry stated, "you look absolutely beautiful."

"Thank you, Mr. Spencer."

"Henry, please. You've got a little belly, there, haven't you?"

"I don't get to wear tight shirts too often anymore," she stated sheepishly, "at least, not until we officially tell Chief Vick."

"How do you feel about all of this, Gus?" Henry asked.

"I wish Shawn would pay a little more attention at work—but why should things change now?"

...

Just before dessert, Henry requested his son's presence to 'help' him in the kitchen.

"So . . . ?"

"What?"

"You never told me how it went with Juliet? Did you propose? She's obviously keeping the baby. Where do you two stand? Have you even talked to her?"

"Of course I _talked_ to her, Dad. She's here, isn't she? And, yes, I proposed."

"But you were too cheap to buy her a ring?"

Shawn scowled and abruptly set the jewelry box on the counter.

"She said no?" Henry asked, surprised.

"Not in those words."

"But she didn't say yes."

"'One step at a time.' That's what she always says. And she's calling the shots."

"But she's here with you . . . so she didn't turn you down flat."

"We're in this awkward gray area where I spend a couple of nights at her place—when she needs me—and we kind of kiss every once in a while, but we don't really know where it's going or what to call ourselves."

"So, you're not dating?"

"We went to dinner after shopping for maternity clothes. Does that count?"

"What did she tell her mother?"

"To call me her boyfriend," Shawn stated definitively.

"Well, that's something." Henry handed Shawn two plates of sliced pie while he carried the other two himself.

They'd reached the doorway to the dining room before Shawn interjected, "Oh, yeah. And she told me she loves me."

...

The New Year's party at the Psych office was mostly women. Juliet felt uncomfortable. Here she was, drinking apple juice, looking mildly pudgy, while a bunch of her peers were drinking and dancing. Shawn was an excellent entertainer—and an even better DJ—and it seemed as though everyone was having a good time. In the midst of telling a story to several pretty, eager listeners, Shawn couldn't tear his eyes away from the blonde standing awkwardly in the corner. At five minutes to midnight, he slipped away from a group of very disappointed females and sought the company of the only one he truly cared to be with.

"Wanna go for a walk?" he whispered, the back of his hand brushing hers ever so lightly.

"Ok," she agreed. He opened the door for her and they proceeded outside. Juliet crossed her arms against the chill, but couldn't help but drink in the beauty of the ocean—the security of having Shawn walking next to her.

"This is going to be an interesting year," he stated, his tone soft and low. "This time next year, we'll have a baby."

She nodded silently.

"Things are going to be different," he continued in that same soft tone.

"Everything's going to be different," she murmured, stopping and turning to him. "Can we do this, Shawn? Can we _be_ someone's parents?"

"Hey," he soothed, rubbing his hands down her arms. "You're going to make a fantastic mom. And me . . . I'll learn as I go. Did I ever mention job number 17 was a nanny?"

"You were never a nanny, Shawn," she rejected, rolling her eyes and heading back toward the office.

"I was for six hours."

"Let me guess, there was a girl involved."

"Well . . . I thought I'd enjoy the challenge."

"Of the girl or the job?"

"Does it matter?"

She finally smiled. "Not particularly."

They walked in silence back to the office until Shawn caught her hand and spun her towards him. "The only girl ever worth the effort is right here in my arms."

"Tell me something . . . honestly, Shawn."

"Jules, you know all my secrets. Why would I be dishonest now?"

She took a deep breath. "Would it be worth the effort if it was just me?"

"What do you mean?"

Behind her, they could hear the party begin to count down from thirty seconds. She was momentarily distracted and almost didn't continue, but for an encouraging squeeze of the hand he still held.

"What if tomorrow I wake up and god forbid I'm in a pool of blood and we go to the hospital and I lose the baby. Would I still be worth it? Just me?"

"Oh, Jules," he moaned, resting his forehead on the top of her head. "I said it the day you told me and I'll say it every day for the rest of my life if that's what it takes." He cupped her cheek in his hand and met her eyes. "I want to spend my life with you, Juliet O'Hara. The baby . . . the baby's just like icing on a Ding Dong—something extra—a little flavor—on top of an already wonderful thing."

She giggled as chaos erupted from inside the office. Shawn wasted no time in bridging the small gap that existed between them and engulfing her lips in his for a passionate kiss that genuinely left her weak at the knees. When it was obvious the kiss was either over or one of them had to start taking off clothes, Juliet pulled her lips away, but wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder.

"Happy New Year, Jules," he whispered into her hair.

"May it be the first of many," she offered earnestly.

...

Shawn groaned and rolled over, blindly reaching for the ear-splitting noise that had interrupted his sleep at—what time was it?—five-thirty. He only half-registered the name before he answered the phone with a guttural grunt.

"Shawn?"

He felt his blood pressure skyrocket at the panic in her voice and was immediately more alert than he would have ever believed he could be that early in the morning.

"Jules, what's wrong?" he reached for the nearest t-shirt and slipped on a pair of flip flops.

"Shawn, I don't . . . feel very good."

"Is it the baby?" He threw several items off his coffee table in a frantic search for his keys.

"I don't think so. I just feel . . . so sick. I think I have a fever."

"Tylenol," he stated definitively, finally victorious in obtaining his keys. "That's what you can take."

"I know. I don't have any."

"I'll grab some."

Even with the stop at the pharmacy, Shawn was over at Juliet's in record time. He found her wrapped in a blanket, shivering on the couch.

"Shawn," she whimpered.

"Hey," he soothed, handing her a Smart Water and a Tylenol before sitting down next to her and immediately taking her in his arms. She leaned her head against his shoulder pitifully.

"My head hurts and my whole body aches and I'm so cold."

"I'm here, Jules," he whispered. "The Tylenol should bring your fever down and I'll stay with you."

"It hurts to swallow."

"Shhh," he commanded. "Just sleep."

...

His neck was throbbing when he opened his eyes four hours later. Falling asleep sitting up was neither refreshing nor relaxing. But to wake up with her in his arms—that was something he'd almost forgotten the pleasure of. He smiled and brushed the hair away from her forehead, resting his hand on it to assess her temperature. She felt cooler than the night before, but he wasn't sure she was back to normal yet.

It wasn't too long before the pain in his neck outweighed the pleasure of her close proximity. He was about to attempt extrication when she slowly lifted her eyelids.

"Feel any better?"

"A bit," she whispered.

He squinted apologetically. "I don't want to make you move, but I've got the _worst_ crick in my neck from sitting up all night and I really need to find another position."

"I have to pee anyway," she declared, yawning and heading to the bathroom. She got a bit light-headed when she stood and he had to steady her, but she quickly resumed her autonomy.

"Why don't you lie down in my bed. I'm going to call in sick and we can sleep for the rest of the day."

He gladly accepted her offer and relished the feeling of stretching out for the first time in several hours. He heard the toilet flush and was slightly surprised when she crawled into bed next to him—albeit facing the opposite wall. He rolled over and ever so subtly began snaking his arms around her, breathing in the scent of her hair as he did.

She rolled over and found her face surprisingly close to his. Her hands naturally set against his chest.

"Last night made me think, Shawn," she began.

She was nervous. He could feel it in the quickening of her pulse.

"I think . . . I think you should move in here."

He raised his eyebrows curiously but didn't say anything.

"I mean . . . what if . . . what if . . ." She couldn't bring herself to say it, so decided to move on to her next argument instead. "I mean, in June when the baby comes you should be here anyway so that you can drive me to the hospital. And if you _really_ want to help raise this baby, you'll want to be here for at least its first couple of months."

"All _very_ good reasons," he whispered, meeting her eyes.

She fought to swallow—not only because of her sore throat, but also because of the hazel eyes that were deeply probing what felt like her soul.

"And we could buy a bed for you and put it in the spare room," she whispered. He moved in to kiss her, but just before his lips touched hers, she warned, "You'll get sick."

"I have a very strong immune system."

"Not right now," she whispered. "Please?"

He sighed disappointedly. "Whatever you ask, Jules."

She rolled back over, but pressed her back against his chest, resting her hands on his around her belly. "Maybe you don't need a bed."

"What are you saying, Detective O'Hara?"

"I'm saying that I could get used to this."

...

The morning of the second day, Shawn awoke to a phone call from the chief. "Hi, Chief."

"I need you to go to San Diego."

He frowned and sat up. "But, Chief . . ."

"I need you to identify a body. And I need you and Gus to leave as soon as Lassiter gets to your office."

"But, Chief . . ."

"Mr. Spencer, this is nonnegotiable."

Shawn sighed and rubbed his face. "I'll be at the Psych office in an hour."

"Call me when you have something."

He hung up and glanced over at a sleeping Juliet. He sighed and stood up. He figured if he could find some sort of duffel bag he had enough clothes for what he hoped would only be a day trip.

"Will you be home for dinner?" she rasped as she rolled over, awakened by his rummaging.

"I like the sound of that," he whispered in spite of himself.

"Dinner?"

"'Home'."

She smiled back at him.

"I have bad news for you, Jules. The chief wants me to identify a body down in San Diego."

"San Diego? That's so far."

"I know." He paused his packing and sidled up next to her.

"Will you be gone for long?"

"I hope not."

"Well, call me tonight if you're not going to be back."

"I will." He kissed her cheek tenderly before grabbing his bag and walking out the door.

* * *

A/N: Thank you all for your wonderful reviews! It inspired me to post this chapter a little early. :) Sorry if the "I'm not a psychic" scene wasn't quite as dramatic as you were hoping for! I really wanted to do something different and the idea that Juliet had known for a while popped into my head, so I went with it. Hope no one's too terribly disappointed.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thank you so much for your overwhelmingly positive reviews! I'm grateful. :)

* * *

"Are you detective Sherman?" Detective Lassiter greeted. Shawn and Gus lagged behind, taking the opportunity to stretch their legs. When they finally caught up, they were greeted with, "Bad news, boys; the body's disappeared."

Shawn sighed.

"So much for your dinner with Juliet," Gus declared.

"Maybe not," Shawn whispered after giving the crime scene a cursory glance. "Somebody stole this body and I know where he—or she—went next."

...

Shawn and Gus were sitting in the back of Lassiter's car on their way to a new crime scene when Shawn's phone rang. He hesitated.

"What?" Gus probed.

"It's Jules," Shawn whispered.

"So?"

"It could be awkward." He leaned his head toward Lassiter.

"Answer it, Shawn," Gus hissed.

"Hello?" he answered in a low tone.

"Not the usual 'Hi, Jules'?" she questioned, sounding a tad disappointed.

"Well . . . I'm in the car," he stated.

"Are you going to be home tonight?"

"I . . . don't think so."

"Oh. Well, be careful, Shawn. We need you."

He smiled broadly. "I will."

"I just called to say that I felt the baby move for the first time about ten minutes ago."

"Aw . . . Aw, I'm sad I'm not there."

"So are we. But you're out saving the world."

"Or at least San Diego."

She laughed—a bright, tinkling sound that thrilled him to his core.

"Sleep well."

"I love you, Shawn."

"You too."

"How are Juliet and the baby?" Carlton inquired as soon as Shawn slipped his phone back in his pocket.

Shawn obviously paled. "She's feeling better. Still has a bit of a sore throat. The baby's good."

"Wait, Lassiter knows?" Gus interjected.

"When are you two planning on telling the chief?" Carlton continued. "I can't keep silent forever."

Shawn sighed with relief. It had been a constant source of stress knowing somewhere in the back of his mind that Lassie snitching his and Juliet's secret was a very real possibility. "That's up to Jules," Shawn asked honestly. "I'm playing entirely by her rules."

Lassiter scoffed. "We've been trying to get you to do that for years."

...

Twelve hours later, they were back on their way up to Santa Barbara. Not only had they identified the body as that of a murderer that had mysteriously disappeared six years earlier, but Shawn had helped close the SDPD's case of disappearing corpses.

He smiled to himself. He _still_ hadn't explained to Gus how he'd figured it all out. It wasn't a serial killer _or_ a necrophiliac. It was simply a crazy old man with an obsession with shirt buttons. Somehow, the man managed to be in the right place at the right time and find the bodies. He'd take them, pull the buttons off the shirts, and bury the bodies in a nearby cemetery—complete with headstones.

Yanking him out of his reverie, his phone vibrated.

'Chinese or pizza?' the text read.

He responded back, 'Do we have any napkins?'

'Chinese it is.'

He couldn't stifle a satisfied grin as he slipped his phone back in his pocket.

"I hope there's nothing inappropriate going on back there, Spencer," Lassie warned.

"Dinner plans, Lassie Face. My baby mama wanted my opinion."

"You ever call my partner that again and I'll shoot you."

"Noted."

"Juliet's far too classy a lady to be assigned that title," Gus interjected.

"What about my significant other and other?"

"Shawn, that's ridiculous."

"My personal incubator?"

The sound of Lassiter's gun being cocked silenced any and all discussion of what Juliet's title should be as he stated, "How about Detective Lassiter's partner?"

"I'll stick with Jules," Shawn assured, putting the detective's ire at ease—for the time being, anyway.

...

Shawn found himself immediately enveloped in a hug when he walked through the door.

"We missed you," she whispered, kissing his cheek and trailing her hand across his chest as she led him into the kitchen. She handed him a plate and began dishing the food she'd bought.

"Jules, wait," he whispered.

She turned to him.

"Put the plate down."

"Aren't you hungry?"

"I'm starving. But this is more important."

Caught off guard by his seriousness, she quickly did as he asked.

"I thought of you every single moment I was gone, Jules. I don't want to spend any of my life away from you. I love you and I know you love me."

"Shawn . . ." she warned, having a good idea of where the conversation was going.

"I want to marry you, Juliet," he whispered, setting the jewelry box on the counter between them.

She briefly brushed her hand across the jewelry box before pushing it back toward him. "We talked about this, Shawn."

"I know. I know!" he stated frustratedly. Calming down ever so slightly, he took both of her hands in his. "One step at a time, Jules. That's what we agreed. But I want you to know . . . the question stands. And as long as we're raising a child together, it will stand."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his cheek before whispering, "I love you, Shawn Spencer."

He held her close to him, relishing her touch. Pressing his own lips to her temple, he whispered tenderly, "I'll be waiting."

...

Shawn sat at his desk in the Psych office, trying to sort his Fruity Puffs by color. He couldn't help but smile when her face came up on his iPhone. He set his spoon in his cereal bowl and answered, "Hey, Jules. What's up?"

"Shawn, we have a problem."

His brow furrowed. "Is something wrong—with . . . with . . ."

"No, nothing's wrong. We're fine. But . . ." She lowered her voice substantially. "I'm due for my routine physical."

"Ohhhhh . . ." His face paled. "So that means . . ."

"We have to tell the chief," she finished. "Sooner, rather than later. I don't want her to find out from some paperwork from the hospital."

"Noooo, no, no. That would not be in our best interest. When's the physical?"

"Mid-February."

"So, can we put it off a while then? Wait until early February?"

"Why not now, Shawn?"

"What if she puts you on desk duty . . . or doesn't let us work cases together anymore?"

Juliet sighed. "The second week of February, Shawn. That's all the longer I'm waiting."

"Jules?"

"What, Shawn?" she prompted, snapping more than she intended to.

"Do I have to be there? Jules? Jules?"

...

Every bone in his face hurt and his severely bruised ribs didn't feel all that great either.

"It's bad enough when I get hurt for solving my _own_ cases . . . but getting mistaken for Lassie? Talk about kicking a man when he's down."

He winced as Juliet put an icepack to a particularly bad bruise along the right side of his jawline. "You know she just attacked whoever came through the door first. It had nothing to do with you looking at all like Carlton."

"Still. I feel violated."

After she felt he'd been sufficiently doctored, she sent him to bed, following as soon as she'd finished her nightly routine.

Nearly an hour later, she rolled over for what _must_ have been the trillionth time.

"Jules!" Shawn groaned. "What is your _problem_? Do I have to remind you what my body's been through in the last six hours?"

"I'm _sorry_. The baby won't stop kicking me."

He switched on the light. "Bring it here," he sighed resolutely.

"Bring _what_?"

"The belly. Bring it over."

She rolled over onto her back. Shawn placed both hands on her stomach and leaned down close.

"Hello? Little SpenceHara baby?" He briefly looked up at Juliet. "Or should it be 'O'Hencer'?"

"Shawn!"

He returned his attention to the baby. "This is your dad speaking. Now, I know you may not understand this, seeing as how everything in your world is like a perfect field of daisies covered in light moss surrounded by a warm Jacuzzi with a never-empty bag of Doritos . . ."

"That's disgusting, Shawn."

"Shhhh!" he commanded. "But I've had a very difficult day. I have many bruises—including my pride—and all I really need is a good night's sleep. So, do you think you could settle down long enough to let Mommy and I fall asleep?" He placed his ear against her stomach and waited several seconds.

"Shawn, the baby's not going to answer you."

"Shhhh!" he repeated.

She rolled her eyes and lay back.

"Did you hear that?" he finally stated.

"No, Shawn."

"Exactly." He leaned back against his pillow and curled up. "Silence. We have a very obedient child."

She smiled at him and reached across to turn out the light. "It certainly doesn't come from _your_ side."

After only a few seconds of silence, she heard Shawn mutter, "Jules?"

"What?" she grunted, slightly sharper than she intended.

"Is the baby a Spencer or an O'Hara?" he asked timidly.

"Both, Shawn. Isn't that part of the definition of reproduction?"

"No, I mean . . ." He sighed, slightly afraid of the gravity of the conversation. "Once the baby's here, is it going to have your last name or mine?"

"One step at a time, Shawn," she groaned, rolling away from him.

He frowned discontentedly. "We have to put _something_ on the baby's birth certificate. He or she _has_ to have a last name. Is it going to be yours or mine?"

All Juliet wanted was to sleep. She grouchily attempted to close the conversation with, "We're not married, Shawn. It's my baby until I say otherwise."

"You're the mom," he whispered defeatedly, rolling to his side with a sigh.

...

Shawn had gone back to the Psych office to work a private case with Gus while Juliet and Carlton took advantage of a slow day to catch up on paperwork. Henry and Chief Vick were booked up with meetings cleaning up from the disaster that had been Shawn's last few cases.

She didn't even realize anyone was behind her until she felt a hand on her shoulder. She jumped slightly.

"You look tired, Juliet," Henry stated kindly.

She rubbed her temples. "I'm going cross-eyed from all this fine print."

"You should go home early tonight—take a bath, rest your eyes . . . make Shawn give you a solid back massage."

"That would be nice," she sighed. "But I can't just leave all of this for Carlton. As long as he's here working, I'll be working."

"Well, as long as Shawn's not here to make sure you're taking care of yourself, I'm looking out for you."

"Thank you, Mr. Spencer," she stated gratefully.

"Henry." He smiled and squeezed her shoulder.

Not ten minutes later, Carlton approached her desk. "Spencer's right; you should go home early."

"Carlton, I'm fully capable of doing paperwork."

"Don't get defensive on me, O'Hara. I'm just trying to give you a break."

"I appreciate that, Carlton, but I don't need to be babied. I'll let you know when I can't handle my job anymore."

"Have it your way."

As Carlton shrugged and walked away, Juliet's phone vibrated. She flipped it open to read a text from Shawn.

'Something came up. Won't be home tonight.'

'Something with the case?'

She waited for almost ten minutes without a response and then tried again.

'Are you all right?'

'Just busy.'

She bit her lip. It didn't sound like Shawn, but she didn't want to keep bothering him in the middle of working a case. 'Call me when you get a chance.'

Her phone buzzed again. She expected a response, but found a call from the doctor instead.

"Juliet?"

"This is she."

"This is Sherri from Dr. Ambrose's office, confirming your appointment for tomorrow morning at seven am."

"I'll be there."

"All right, we'll see you then."

She thought of texting Shawn again to remind him of the appointment, but thought it better to wait until he called her.

...

Juliet woke up, rolled over, and sighed gloomily. She gently ran her hand across the sheet where Shawn's body should have been. In only a few weeks she'd gotten so used to having him next to her as she slept that she'd had to turn the heater up in her room just to fall asleep. Waking up without him there made her feel insecure and lonely. She immediately reached for her phone, only to be disappointed. No texts, no messages. Why hadn't he called? She had barely an hour to get ready and go to her appointment.

"You're gonna be sorry you missed this one, Shawn," she growled out loud as she threw the covers off and headed to the bathroom.

...

He was tied to a tree. As if the bitter cold weren't enough, the rope was cutting off circulation to his hands and his vision was blurred from the blow that had rendered him unconscious the day before.

"You're awake."

"Prescott," Shawn spat bitterly. Suddenly, he felt his ropes loosen and he tried to stand up, slightly confused. He stood to find a gun pointed between his eyes.

"Run."

"You think I'm going to play your sick little game?" Shawn whispered confidently. He was answered by the side of a pistol crashing into his right temple. He cried out in pain and fell to his knees.

"I will shoot you."

"Then what's the point of dragging me all the way out here?"

"Well, until you came along, Detective O'Hara's family was the most important thing to her. Unfortunately, no one was hurt in the fire, so I knew I needed to up the ante. You joined the act just in time, Mr. Spencer. Now I get the pleasure of forcing Juliet to understand the pain of watching the person you'd give your life for die right in front of your eyes."

"So, why play the game? Why not just call her out here and shoot me right away?"

"What would be the fun in that? Now run!"

Shawn stood to his feet again, ready to take the opportunity to try and escape when he heard his phone. He checked his pockets.

"Did you really think I'd be dumb enough to leave you with this?" Prescott inquired, dangling the phone in front of Shawn. "Looks as though you're missing an OB appointment with the lovely Lady O'Hara."

"Damn it," Shawn swore. "She's not going to forgive me for that."

"Unresolved feelings inflict so much emotional damage—I'm sure you'll receive your forgiveness—posthumously, of course."

Prescott cocked the pistol and Shawn took off running, utilizing all the skills he'd learned at such a young age in hopes of finding some way out before Juliet became involved.


	6. Chapter 6

Juliet settled on the exam table after her sonogram and waited for the doctor. "Where's Shawn?" were the first words out of the doctor's mouth.

Juliet sighed. "I don't know, actually."

"He _left_ you? I thought he looked the type, but he seemed so emotional he almost had me."

"He didn't _leave_," Juliet whispered. "He wouldn't miss this. He wouldn't."

A bleep on the monitor caught the doctor's attention. "Juliet, are you feeling all right?"

"He'd be here. Even if he was up all night working, he promised me he wouldn't miss any of these."

"Juliet, you need to calm down and relax," the doctor ordered, gently pressing on Juliet's shoulder.

"Oh, God," she whispered. "What's happened to him?"

"I'm sure he's fine, Juliet. He probably just slept through his alarm if he was up all night." She changed the subject. "Would you like to know the sex?"

"No . . . yes . . . no . . . we never really talked about it."

"Well, it's your call, Mom."

Juliet bit her lip. 'Patience' wasn't a word in Shawn's vocabulary. He'd want to know. She nodded briefly.

"It's a little girl," the doctor whispered, handing Juliet a printed sonogram. "She looks beautiful, Juliet. Just try to keep calm—your blood pressure's running a little high."

When the doctor left to let Juliet change, she reached for her phone. 'I'm starting to get worried, Shawn. Where are you? Are you all right? It's a girl.'

...

Shawn felt like his lungs were going to burst. He was starting to get dizzy and knew he _had_ to stop running or he'd fall. He eyed the trees above him, wondering if he could climb one fast enough to be out of sight before Prescott caught up to him.

"You're going to have to do better than that, Shawn!" he heard echoed across the forest.

Shawn turned in every direction, searching for the best route. He saw smoke from a chimney in one direction, but, knowing Prescott had precisely chosen the spot where they'd begun the chase and keenly remembering the result of finding civilization the _last_ time he'd been in a similar situation, he ran towards a creek. He hopped the creek only to lose his balance and land with a large thorn sticking through his right palm. He cursed loudly and regained his feet, running upstream. He soon heard road noises and headed toward them, hoping he'd be able to at least see a town of some sort in either direction. Two steps from the asphalt, he felt the ground give way under his feet. He tried to throw his weight to avoid falling through the hole, but only managed to land _hard_ on his left side in some sort of underground tunnel.

After rolling in pain for a few seconds, he considered his surroundings to be almost lucky—out of sight, at least for a little while, he could rest and hopefully find some water.

"Took you long enough."

Shawn jumped. Prescott stood above him, pistol again aimed at his head. "But . . . what . . . how did you . . ."

"This was the destination all along, Shawn. I'd hoped you'd find it sooner, when you were stronger. But now I guess I'll have to give you a bit of a rest before the next round."

"Thanks, I appreciate that," Shawn sneered.

...

Juliet entered the station and went straight to her desk, hoping Shawn would be there or at the very least would have left a message that maybe he'd lost his phone or something. Disappointed, she pulled out the sonogram and stared at it, all her hopes and dreams for the future playing through her head: Shawn, painting the nursery; Shawn, holding their little girl for the first time; Shawn, walking their daughter down the aisle; Shawn, walking _her_ down the aisle.

She snapped out of her reverie in time to notice Henry staring over her shoulder at the picture.

"Lovely," he choked out, dabbing inconspicuously at his eyes.

"It's a girl," she murmured.

"A granddaughter," Henry mused. "Have you two talked about names?"

Juliet shook her head. "We haven't talked about a lot of things."

"Hey," he hooked her chin with his finger, "is something wrong, Juliet?"

Her lip quivered. "I haven't heard from him since yesterday."

"He didn't come home last night?"

"No, but he told me he wouldn't be—texted me, at least."

"Well have you tried Gus? If you don't know where he is, I'm sure Gus does."

"They're working a case . . . I didn't want to bother them."

"I'd at least try; put your mind at ease."

"Thanks, Henry."

He smiled and squeezed her hand. She flipped her phone open and closed a few times before finally giving in and dialing Gus's cell phone number.

"Hello, Juliet," Gus greeted.

"Gus, is Shawn around?"

"Haven't seen him today. When you do, will you tell him we have work to do?"

"He told me you two were working a case last night."

"We weren't . . . we don't have a case. Shawn wrapped it up yesterday afternoon. I thought he was going home to you, but when I came in this morning I found a note that said he wouldn't be in today . . . something about fishing with his dad."

Juliet's stomach flip flopped. "He's not fishing with his dad, Gus."

"That's what the note said."

"Henry's here. I'm looking right at him. And unless he intentionally misled me earlier, he hasn't seen Shawn either."

"Juliet, is Shawn in trouble?" Gus asked nervously.

"I'm starting to worry," she whispered.

"I'll be down there in ten minutes."

Juliet took a deep breath. Finally, her feet caught up with her eyes and she trod toward Henry's desk. "Were you and Shawn supposed to go fishing today?"

"Fishing? Shawn hates fishing. What are you talking about, Juliet?"

"Oh, God," she breathed, folding her arms across herself and trying to calm her breathing as adrenaline coursed through her and she began the early symptoms of a panic attack.

"Juliet, what's going on?" Henry asked immediately standing and bracing her, holding both arms supportively.

"Shawn's missing," she whispered. "He missed our OB appointment this morning and told me he was with Gus and told Gus he was with you."

"Why would he lie?"

"He didn't. I got a text and Gus got a note."

"Somebody has him?"

"Henry, I'm scared," she whispered, grasping his coat lapel.

...

Shawn awoke to ice cold water being poured over his head. He gasped and shivered.

"Before we commence, it's time to let the world know why you're not home." Prescott dialed Juliet's cell phone number on Shawn's phone. "Say hello to your wife and daughter."

"D-daughter?"

"Oh, didn't you get _Jules_' text?" Prescott taunted. "It's a girl! _Mazel tov_. Too bad you'll never meet her."

Shawn gritted his teeth.

"Shawn?" he could hear her panicked voice on the other end of the phone.

"Say hello," Prescott hissed.

"Jules," Shawn groaned.

"Shawn, are you all right?"

He lifted seething eyes to Prescott. "For now."

"Where are you?"

"I'm a little tied up at the moment."

"Shawn, who has you?"

Prescott lifted an eyebrow and gestured toward Shawn, indicating he could tell.

"Prescott," Shawn spat.

"Do you know where you are?"

"That's enough," Prescott stated, yanking the phone away from Shawn. "I'm going to give you long enough to trace the location of this call and then this phone goes off. That's all you're getting, _Detective_. Find him before this time tomorrow or you'll be finding his body." Prescott hung up and threw the phone to the ground.

"That should give her _something_ to start with. Feel like you're ready to start the next round?"

"As if I had a choice."

"That's right. Here's the situation: four paths in this tunnel. One leads to an abandoned mine shaft—you'll fall to your death or drown in the bottom before you know where you are. The second one leads to an unstable part of this area—you'll trigger a cave-in and die after an uncomfortable amount of time spent buried alive. The second two are exits. One leads to a town, the other will lead straight to me. You have ten minutes before I trigger the explosives I've lined these walls with, which means you have one chance and one chance only—two, maybe, if you run fast enough." He sliced Shawn's ropes. "Now run."

...

Juliet sat in the corner of the chief's office as Karen handed out assignments and yelled out orders. Henry, Gus, and Lassiter, though all paying attention to their respective parts, eyed her concernedly. Chief Vick's phone rang and she sent everyone out. Henry's hand rested on Juliet's back comfortingly.

She nervously nibbled on her thumbnail. "He's going to kill him," she murmured, "and it's all my fault."

Her shoulders hunched forward and tears threatened to force their way out.

"We'll find this bastard and take care of him once and for all," Carlton stated definitively. "Now, are you good to go, O'Hara, or do you need to stay here?"

"I'm going."

"We're all going," Gus contributed.

"Then let's do this."

...

Shawn took a moment to survey his surroundings before he chose a path. Two went uphill, two went downhill. Figuring the uphill ones were more likely to lead somewhere desirable, he quickly chose and began to run. Not thirty seconds down the tunnel, he tripped on a boulder and rolled down a flight of stairs, crying out in pain as he did so. He rolled on the ground for a bit before attempting to stand. His left ankle was immediately engulfed in searing pain, but he pressed on anyway. His heart leapt when he saw daylight and realized he'd averted the dangers of the tunnel. He was slightly relieved to find Prescott no where in sight. In front of him sat a parking lot with one abandoned car. He found it unlocked and got in the driver's seat. But something wasn't right . . . he couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was something off about the car. He immediately tried to open the door, realizing despairingly that there was no way to open it from the inside. Starting to panic, he rolled down his shirt sleeve and broke the window with his elbow, glass shattering around him, pricking little places on his face and neck. He threw himself as far as he could away from the car just as it burst into flames.

When he opened his eyes, that familiar pistol was the first thing that came into focus. "Better luck next time, Shawn," Prescott bellowed, yanking him up by his arm and forcing him to walk in front of him. "Your team made good time. They've already found the tunnels. Too bad they'll die in them." Prescott dangled the detonator in front of Shawn's face.

"Juliet!" Shawn screamed in the direction of the tunnel, hoping beyond all hope that somehow she'd be able to hear him. "Juliet!"

"Now, that's breaking the rules," Prescott grumbled, once more beating all consciousness out of the already well-weakened detective.

...

"Shhhh . . ." Juliet hissed. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Carlton demanded.

"It sounded like . . ."

"Aw, hell," Carlton hissed. "A cave in! Everybody out!"

Carlton, the last of the group, barely made it out before the entrance sealed. Juliet, exhausted and well beyond any emotional restraint, gripped the hair at the top of her head despairingly, not even attempting to stem the sobs that gripped her body. She dropped to her knees, too distraught to remain standing. Gus was the first to go to her. He knelt beside her and rubbed her back.

"He'll be ok, Juliet. You _know_ he'll find a way out."

She shook her head. "He's just going to prolong it until I'm there long enough to see," she sobbed. "This part's just a game. He's ultimately just going to shoot him . . . right in front of me. God, Shawn, I'm so sorry."

Carlton and Henry searched the area for almost an hour while Gus simply sat with Juliet. But they searched in vain. Juliet, finally able to lock into the detective and abandon the frightened girlfriend, began her own search. Before too long, she'd found the burned-out wreckage of the car Carlton and Henry had already dismissed.

"It's still warm," she whispered. "There's something about this car."

Henry eyed it cautiously. "What color shirt was he wearing, Juliet?"

"Yesterday? Umm . . ." she closed her eyes and imagined the last time she'd seen him. They'd had breakfast together, but he'd still been wearing his pajamas. Had she seen him before he left? She'd been in the shower when he'd changed and she wasn't out when he left. Wait . . . he'd poked his head in to let her know he was leaving. What color was the cuff on that sleeve? "Purple and gray," she stated definitively.

Henry held a shard of glass up in front of her, bits of purple and gray thread stuck to blood on it.

"Oh my god," she whispered.

Chaos ensued as Henry, Carlton, and Juliet all barked orders to the surrounding officers and into their radios. Blockades were set up, drag marks tracked, and evidence collected. The drag marks led to a little shack in an abandoned town, but there the trail went cold.

"Come on, Shawn," Juliet whispered. "Where are you?"


	7. Chapter 7

As he was being dragged, he woke momentarily—long enough to register that he was still outside and may have a chance to leave a clue. Without drawing any attention to himself, he managed to slip off his right shoe and leave it behind in the dust before falling back into unconsciousness.

...

"He would have left _something_," Juliet stated desperately, wishing more than being certain of Shawn's ability to lead them. Over by an outhouse, something caught her attention. "Henry!" she screamed. "Over here!" Carlton, Gus, and Henry all ran after her as she ran for everything she was worth. "His shoe."

...

Underground again. He didn't know where he was, how long he'd been out, or how long he could stay conscious, but he knew he was underground again. And he was cold. His clothes were still soaked from the rude awakening he'd received in the tunnel. "You've been out too long," Prescott stated. "We're going to have to skip a few rounds."

"My apologies," Shawn groaned, trying to conceal a shiver.

"Wait . . . what's this?"

Shawn tucked his socked foot behind the other, vainly hoping to hide his 'disobedience'.

"Damn you, Spencer!" Prescott hissed, pistol whipping him yet again. "Now I have to go clean up your mess!"

Shawn's muddled, aching head sprang into acute focus as he found what could possibly be his only chance at escape. Standing in spite of the overwhelming pain in his ankle, he realized with a bit of relief that, in his anger, Prescott had left him untied. Climbing the ladder—the only way out—was excruciating on the ankle that Shawn was pretty sure was broken. He found himself inside a building, beneath a trap door. Prescott was sitting behind a window, watching warily the activity that surrounded the building. Shawn snuck up behind him and grabbed a loose floorboard, but hit a creak in the old floor, catching Prescott's attention. He whirled around and cocked his gun. Shawn brought the plank down on his hand, causing the gun to slide across the room. Shawn crawled to the corner and quickly grabbed the gun, turning it on Prescott who was taking deliberate steps toward Shawn—huddled in the corner.

"You stop right there, Prescott," Shawn hissed. When the man didn't do as he was told, Shawn fired at his left leg. Prescott cried out in pain and fell backwards into a mirror, knocking himself unconscious. Keeping the gun trained on his now unconscious captor, Shawn scrambled to his side, searching every pocket for his missing phone. He sighed with relief and turned it on, dialing Juliet's number immediately.

"Prescott?"

"Hi, Jules," he greeted weakly.

"Shawn, oh my god! Are you all right? Where are you?"

"I don't know where I am. I h-have him . . . but I d-don't know . . . how much longer . . . I can s-s-stay awake." He was starting to shiver uncontrollably.

"Shawn, we're tracking your phone now. Stay on the line."

"It looks like . . ." he blinked his eyes, trying to clear his vision. "A b-barber shop. It's a barber . . . sh-shop, Jules."

Juliet spun around, trying to read all the worn-out signs. "I see it. I'll be there in thirty seconds."

"I know something you don't," Prescott whispered, obviously having regained consciousness.

"You s-stay where you are, you son of a . . . b-b-bitch," Shawn growled, shaking his head in an attempt to rid his vision of the blurriness acquired by his multiple skull blows.

"First, that pistol only had one bullet in it," Prescott stated.

Shawn eyed the gun, giving Prescott a split second to pull his second sidearm from his belt.

"And second, I have another gun." He cocked the pistol and moved it toward Shawn's head. Shawn closed his eyes and heard several shots. He opened his eyes slowly, greeted with Juliet standing over Prescott who had three bullet holes in his chest. Quickly following Juliet were his dad, Gus, Lassiter, and the chief, along with several other officers to take Prescott into custody.

"Jules," Shawn whispered, suddenly not feeling the need so keenly to fight for consciousness, as his body was wracked with violent shivering.

"Shawn," she uttered, the word coming out in broken sobs as she eyed the various bruises and cuts all over his body. He reached up and felt the trickle of blood from his most recent pistol whipping. He looked at the blood on his fingers, only to be greeted with the muddy, bloody mess that was the hole in his palm where the thorn had punctured it so much earlier.

"I don't f-feel very good," he whispered.

"The paramedics are on their way, Shawn. They'll be here."

"Keep him awake, Juliet," Henry instructed.

"Did you get my texts?" she asked quickly, holding his left hand.

He squeezed back with what little strength he could muster. "A girl. Can we . . . name her . . . after you?"

She laughed through her tears. "We have plenty of time to talk about names."

"I hope . . . sh-she doesn't get . . . m-m-my nose."

"Me too."

"You know that's right," Gus interjected.

"Harsh," Shawn stated, laughing slightly and wincing at the pain it brought to his chest.

The paramedics quickly rushed in with a gurney, pushing everyone—including Juliet away. "Jules, you look awful," Shawn commented as the paramedics lifted him onto the bed. "You need to . . . t-take care of yourself and . . . our b-baby . . . girl. Gus, look after them," he instructed as he was wheeled out the door.

As Shawn was wheeled out into the ambulance, Juliet felt her adrenaline rush slip away and she began to feel light headed. She faltered and would have fallen if Lassiter hadn't caught her.

"You need to eat something," Carlton stated gravely.

"And get some rest," Henry chimed in.

"I'll take you home, Juliet," Gus offered.

"I should go to the hospital," she argued weakly.

"I'll be at the hospital. Shawn wouldn't want you there at the risk of your baby," Henry stated, offering his arm as support.

"O'Hara," the chief stated sternly.

"Chief . . . I . . ."

"We'll talk about this in the morning," Chief Vick said decidedly, walking out.

...

After forcing herself to eat at least some of the chicken salad Gus had purchased for her, she reluctantly went to bed. Gus was under strict orders from Henry to not let Juliet leave for the hospital until she'd gotten at _least_ three hours of sleep. After tossing and turning, she fell asleep and awoke to find that dusk had fallen.

"Gus," she stated, touching his shoulder. "Gus, can we go? Please?"

Gus—who had been sleeping soundly on the couch in front of a rerun of Family Ties—awoke with a start and looked up at Juliet.

"What time is it?"

"It's seven. Please? Can we go?"

"Of course." Gus grabbed his keys and opened the door for Juliet.

"He's all right, isn't he Gus? I mean . . . he didn't need surgery or anything."

"Henry would have called if anything dramatic happened. He was conscious when we found him, Juliet. I don't think we'll be losing our fake psychic anytime in the near future."

Gus had barely put the car in park before Juliet opened the door and went charging into the hospital. "Shawn Spencer," she stated to the receptionist.

"Are you family?"

"My baby is," she stated convincingly.

The nurse eyed her up and down. "I'll have to call."

"His dad is with him—Henry Spencer. He'll let us in," she begged, annoyed with the delay.

Hanging up the phone, the nurse handed Juliet and Gus—who had walked up behind her a few minutes earlier—guest passes and gave them directions. Juliet walked through the door before Gus could even reach for the handle. Henry stood as soon as she entered the room.

"He's sleeping," Henry whispered.

Juliet was obviously crestfallen, but she walked to his side, intent on waiting there until he awoke. She surveyed his appearance with pain in her eyes. He had a splint on his left leg, bandages around both arms and in various places on his face, and a large wad of gauze wrapped around his right hand. "Oh, Shawn," she whispered brokenly. "This is all my fault."

"Jules," he whispered, turning his head towards her.

Henry and Gus immediately left to give them some time, offering some excuse about getting coffee.

"Shawn," she repeated, reaching for his left hand and holding with all the affection she could muster. Impulsively, she leaned down and kissed his lips, her tears falling on his cheeks.

He opened his eyes slowly as she broke the connection. "Well, if that isn't incentive to get better, I don't know what is," he stated choppily, his voice ragged and labored.

She ran her hand through his hair tenderly. "So, what's the damage, Psychic?"

"Broken ankle, couple of broken ribs, a few stitches. I'll be here for a couple days while they rehydrate me and make sure my concussion's not going to kill me . . . warm me up a bit. That's all."

"That's all? You have a concussion?"

"Have _you_ ever been pistol whipped repeatedly?"

"How _many_ stitches?" she pressed.

"Eighteen, nineteen . . . I don't know; I couldn't feel 'em."

"I'm so sorry, Shawn," she whispered.

"Hey," he commanded, gripping her hand, "absolutely _none_ of this was your fault. And I'm still here, Jules. You're not getting rid of me that easily."

She grinned at him. "Thank god, 'cause, you know, we don't have a name for our daughter."

"That's right . . . we haven't talked about that, have we?"

"Mm-mm," she stated, shaking her head and moving to pull up a chair.

"No, sit here with me," he stated, patting the side of his bed. "I'm thinking . . . Pineapple."

"To eat?"

"For a name."

"You want to name our daughter after fruit?"

"If Gwyneth and Chris can do it . . ."

Her face made it obvious he shouldn't continue that line of reasoning.

"Roseanne?" he offered as a second choice.

"That's ridiculous."

"Michaela . . . but only if her middle name's Quinn and she becomes a doctor. And moves to the wild west. We can call her Mike."

"Shawn!" Juliet giggled. "What about _family_ names? How about Maddie?"

"Maddie, Jules? Really? You're pulling that one out?"

"Well, my mom always hated her name and made me promise I'd never name my children after her."

"If you're set on family names, there's always Shawn."

"Really?" she stated incredulously.

"Ten percent of people named Shawn are girls, Jules."

"You really want our daughter to have to walk through life being the only one of ten Shawns who is female?"

"It makes her unique."

"Having us for parents makes her unique enough."

"You know that's right," Shawn stated after thinking a moment. "More me than you," he added, trailing the back of his index finger down her jawline. "Jules, you're even more beautiful than all the dreams I had while I was unconscious."

She smiled and pressed his hand to her cheek, relishing the feeling of his skin against hers. "I couldn't sleep without you there last night."

"Worried, huh?"

"No . . . Prescott sent me texts as you saying you wouldn't be home. I wasn't worried yet. I just . . ." She paused, unsure of what exactly she wanted to say. She swallowed and met the earnest hazel eyes that were patiently waiting for her to convey what was obviously a weighty message. She bit her lip. "Shawn, I refuse to be a pregnant bride."

"That's all right . . . one step at a time, right?"

"Wrong."

His face clouded in confusion.

"I don't ever want to sleep alone again, Shawn."

"You . . . you mean . . ."

"After the baby's born," she stated warningly.

He searched her eyes earnestly.

"Y-you said the offer would stay open," she stated uncomfortably, his silence unnerving her.

"I have a bag of stuff," he stated, moving his head back and forth, looking around the room, only to find that so much movement made him dizzy. He placed his hand over his eyes.

"Lie back," Juliet stated. "I'll find it." She held up a plastic bag. "Is this it?"

He reached out for it and pulled out the desired object—the jewelry box he'd kept in his pocket for so long. "Juliet O'Hara," he whispered, tightening his grip on her hand, "will you marry me?"

Her eyes filled up with tears and she nodded once, unable to speak. He slipped the ring on her finger and she kissed him gently, quickly. Resting her face just inches from his in a position that had become all too familiar to them both, she whispered, "I never want to be without you, Shawn Spencer."

"I love you, Juliet. I love you both. And even if this is the _only_ thing I stick to—the only thing I do right—for my whole life, I promise you, I'll be here."

She finally took a look at the ring on her finger. "What, do you just carry this around with you wherever you go?"

"Yes," he answered simply.

"Shawn, how long have you had this?" she asked in disbelief.

"Since that first day . . . the day you told me."

She ran the back of her hand down his cheek. "You're so good to me."

He closed his eyes, savoring her soft skin on his beaten face. "I'm sorry about the appointment."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't, Shawn. But that reminds me . . ." She unfolded the sonogram picture that had been stuffed in her pocket and handed it to him. Pointing, she instructed, "See . . . right _there_ is our little girl."

"It's amazing," he whispered. "Jules . . ." He trailed off, too choked up to speak, just as Gus and Henry reentered the room.

"Do you see what I told you, Gus?" Henry teased. "She's got him all weepy now."

...

The chief generously gave Juliet four days off—the two that Shawn was in the hospital and two following to get settled. Shawn would be in a wheelchair for a week and on crutches for five while his ankle healed. She brought him meals in bed, helped him to the bathroom, and changed his bandages. After only three days, he was begging her for a shave, but he had too many scrapes and cuts on his face to even make it worth trying. He had a couple of stitches in his left cheek from the glass of the car window, road rash on the other side of his forehead from throwing himself from the car, and various bruises and cuts from being pistol whipped.

She was in the middle of changing his bandages the second day he was home when her phone rang.

"You should probably get that."

"I'm off, Shawn; it can wait." He winced as she pulled his arm away from his body to change a bandage around his elbow. She washed her hands when she was done and picked up her phone to check her voicemail. Her face paled.

"Jules?"

She held up her hand to keep him from asking questions. She closed her phone a few seconds later, a blank look in her eyes.

"Jules? Who was it?"

"Chief Vick." She looked him in the eye. "She wants to see me first thing in the morning."

"Wait . . . does she know?"

Juliet rolled her eyes. "Of _course_ she knows, Shawn. She was standing right there in the barber shop when we were talking about it."

"I gave it away, didn't I?" he stated with a grimace.

"I didn't stop you," she contributed reluctantly. "I was far more worried about keeping you conscious and alive than I was about what the Chief heard or didn't hear. Now I guess it's time to face the music."

"Shouldn't I be there?"

She gave him a sort of lopsided grin. "Shawn, you're in no position to be _anywhere_. Bedrest means just that—in bed."

"But I have the wheelchair. I should be there too. It's just as much my baby as it is yours."

"But it's _my_ job."

"It could be mine too," he returned seriously.

Juliet sighed. "She didn't ask to see _us_, Shawn. She asked to see me."

He pursed his lips, thinking, but couldn't come up with a further argument. "Well, I wish you didn't have to do it alone."

"I have you with me for everything else," she stated, sidling up next to him in bed. "I can do this one little thing."

"You know that's right," he growled as he moved in to kiss her.


	8. Chapter 8

"Have a seat, Detective O'Hara," the chief commanded, shutting the door behind the junior detective and closing the blinds.

Juliet silently did as she was told.

"How is Shawn?" Chief Vick began, starting off with an easy question.

"He's still taking his pain meds pretty regularly for his ribs. It's too hard to breathe otherwise. He wakes up with a headache most mornings and he's a real pill about staying off his ankle. Otherwise, he seems to be improving."

Karen folded her hands and set them on her desk. "How long have you known about the baby?"

Juliet bit her lip, counting forward from that morning before work.

...

Juliet woke with a start and glanced around the room, trying to figure out what had so rudely awakened her. When she caught sight of the clock, she groaned. Somehow, she'd slept right through her alarm. She grabbed her clothes and took one of the quickest showers she'd taken in her life. Throwing her hair up into a clip, she breezed through the kitchen, reaching for a pop tart on the way out. Once in her car, she glanced over at the metallic packaging and felt her stomach lurch. Nothing about her on-the-go breakfast was at all appetizing. She turned on the radio, hoping to take her mind off how weird she felt.

She yawned as she pulled into her regular parking spot in front of the police department. She caught sight of Shawn's motorcycle and grinned. As she allowed herself to get excited about their promised date that night, her mind automatically went back to that night.

Suddenly, all the color drained out of Juliet's face and her keys fell to the ground. "Oh my god," she whispered. "I'm late."

Without even a second glance at the station, she got back in her car and drove to the gas station on the corner. She tossed a bill at the attendant and went back to her car, stuffing the small box in her briefcase and charging straight toward the ladies' room the minute she entered the station.

"O'Hara," Carlton called. "You're late. The chief wants to brief us on a case. We're waiting for you."

"Give me _five_ minutes," she snapped. She didn't wait for a response.

As if it had become the most difficult thing in the world, she suddenly had a really hard time taking the pregnancy test. It was almost as though by refusing to relax, she could somehow prevent the answer she feared. But the waiting while the test rendered was the worst two minutes of Juliet O'Hara's life. She fixed her hair, put on fresh lipstick, and surveyed her entire appearance in the mirror—still with over a minute left.

Before even two minutes were up, the second line appeared. She felt a little sick to her stomach.

"Oh, god," she whispered, letting her head fall backward in complete and utter shock. She allowed herself only a few seconds to process before looking her reflection in the eye and stating in a shaky whisper, "Juliet, you're going to have a baby." With a tight nod to herself, she discarded the test and left the bathroom, headed toward the Chief's office. Shawn smiled as soon as he saw her. She looked away and took her place next to Lassiter, though she couldn't help but see in her mind the disappointment that must have come over his face at her rejection.

...

"Four months," Juliet answered softly. "I've known for four months."

"And no where in those four months did the thought arise that I might be interested in this information?"

"Of course it did."

"Then why didn't you tell me? I realize we've established that officially I am your superior and that is the full extent of our relationship, but I'm also a woman and would have liked the opportunity to at least congratulate you."

Juliet fiddled with the engagement ring newly placed on her finger. "I didn't say anything because of Shawn."

"Shawn asked you not to say anything?"

"No. Not really. But . . . it's complicated, Chief."

"I'm sure it is."

"We didn't want our working relationship to be compromised by the baby," Juliet stated succinctly.

"Or, rather," the chief interpreted, "your relationship with Mr. Spencer."

"Yes, that too. But honestly, Chief, when I first found out I was pregnant, there _was_ no relationship."

Chief Vick squinted and tilted her head, slightly confused.

"You don't need to hear the whole story—unless you want to—but Shawn and I needed to figure out _what_ we were to each other before everything came out."

"You're obviously something now," Chief Vick observed as Juliet continued to fiddle with her ring.

"He proposed as soon as he found out about the baby, but I turned him down. He proposed again after San Diego and I gave him the same answer. But after . . . after . . ."

"After Prescott, you realized you really were in love with him?"

Juliet simply nodded.

"I see more than this department gives me credit for, O'Hara. I knew long before the Prescott case that you two were somehow _involved_. Honestly, as long as I don't see it interfering with your work, I don't care _how_ you and Spencer spend your evenings and weekends."

Juliet sighed with relief.

"The baby though . . . you realize you won't be able to continue working in the same capacity you have been?"

"Are you going to pull me off of field duty?"

"Not for the time being. You still seem capable—physically, of course. But—if you feel anything like I did—you'll _want_ to be out in a month or two. We'll work it out."

"Thank you, Chief Vick," Juliet gushed, standing and holding her hand out for a hand shake.

"Get back to work, O'Hara," Chief Vick ordered, ignoring the proffered hand.

Juliet returned her hand to her side awkwardly and headed for the door.

"O'Hara?"

"Yes, Chief?"

"You look great."

Juliet smiled and opened the door. "Thank you, Chief."

...

It was two weeks before Shawn was allowed to work cases—and even then, he was confined mostly to simply observing crime scenes and photographs due to his crutches and consequent immobility. His first case back had to do with a missing parrot.

"I see it all," he stated, beginning his usual wrap-up monologue. "You killed Tracy," he stated, pointing to the parrot's owner. "You thought you'd hidden it nicely, until . . . Squawk! Polly want a cracker," he crowed, putting on his best parrot impression. "You slept with my husband. Squawk! Now you'll pay. Squawk!"

"Shawn," Juliet whispered, nudging his elbow.

"Jules, I'm in the middle of the wrap-up!" he hissed back. "The parrot was an unaccounted for witness! So you . . ."

"Shawn!" Juliet repeated, this time more insistently.

"Jules, please."

"The baby's kicking," she whispered.

"She's been doing that for six weeks," he whispered back, placing his hand to his head again, preparing to continue with his 'revelation'.

"No, Shawn. You can feel it. Put your hand here."

He opened his eyes and turned to look at her, slowly dropping his hand. Completely forgetting about the case—or anyone else in the room, Shawn pressed his hand against Juliet's abdomen, waiting in complete silence and stillness for the promised contact. Gus quickly picked up where Shawn had left off and Lassiter cuffed the parrot's owner—and murderer.

"My god," Shawn whispered, unable to move his hand or his eyes—which were staring intently at Juliet's stomach. "There's a little person in there," he murmured.

She placed her hands over his affectionately. "We're halfway, Dad," she whispered.

"I can't believe someone's going to be calling me that," he replied in a soft, awed tone.

She ran her palm against the short stubble that had grown along his jawline, finishing with a quick kiss on his cheek. "But I can."

...

About the time Shawn was able to go back to work, Juliet volunteered herself for desk duty.

"Jules, come on," he whined, perching on her desk. "We haven't worked a case together in _ages_."

"I can help you from here. You remember all those times you asked me for background checks or information on cases I wasn't supposed to help you with? Now I'm all yours."

He pouted, but didn't respond, having nothing left to offer as an argument.

Juliet changed the subject. "I got the time off for Regan's wedding next month. Have you put in your request?"

"Jules, I'm a _consultant_. I can say 'no' whenever it's convenient."

"Shawn, have you put in your request?"

"I'm owned by no man!"

"Shawn . . ."

"Jules?"

"What?"

"Do you think you could put in a time-off request for me while you're on desk duty?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, Shawn. I'll do it for you."

He kissed her hand. "Thank you, my beautiful wife-to-be."

She sighed and gave him a glimpse of a smile. "You go work, now. Make some money, Spencer. This weekend we're going baby furniture shopping."

"Yes, ma'am, Detective O'Hara."

...

Shawn woke up the night before the wedding to find Juliet absent from their bed. He lifted his head groggily and glanced toward the bathroom to see if the light was on. Sighing, he stood up, shivering at the shock of the temperature out from under the blankets.

"Jules?" he called softly, rounding the corner. She was lying on the couch. "Is something wrong?"

"Just a contraction or two," she answered.

Shawn rubbed his face. "Like, 'Shawn, put on a shirt and some shoes; the baby's in trouble' contractions?"

"No," she whispered, a slight smile coming to her face. "Like perfectly normal, irregular, but terribly uncomfortable Braxton-Hicks contractions."

He flopped down on the couch next to her and began massaging her feet considerately. "How long have you been up?"

She glanced at the clock. "An hour, maybe."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"We could go for a walk."

He glanced at the clock, then the dark outside before sighing and standing up. Offering his hand to help her stand, he stated, "I'll grab a sweatshirt."

...

After she signed the guest book, Dylan escorted Juliet to a front-row seat, next to that saved for their parents. Shawn followed nonchalantly behind. He immediately wrapped his arm behind Juliet's shoulders on the back of her chair when they settled. She reached her left hand across his lap, inviting him to take her hand with his free one. He kissed her temple quickly.

"It'll be us before too long," she whispered.

He pursed his lips and tilted his head to look at her.

"What?" she questioned, her brow furrowing with her inability to read his mind.

"Tell me about it."

"You'll be fidgeting up there at the altar while I put the final touch on my veil."

"Who's got the baby?" he asked, his voice low and tender.

"My mom, of course," she answered, with a sweet smile. "Unless Carlton wants to fight for her."

"Aw, Lassie wanna hold the baby?" Shawn teased.

"Of course, Gus is standing next to you."

"Who's your maid of honor?"

"I don't know . . . maybe Janine."

"Mark's wife?"

Juliet nodded and placed a finger to her lips as Ewan escorted Colleen to sit beside Juliet.

Colleen didn't say anything to Juliet until they stood to acknowledge Cheryl's entrance. "You finally said yes?" she whispered to her daughter.

"To what?" Juliet questioned, slightly taken aback by her mother making conversation as the ceremony began.

Colleen reached over and removed Juliet's hand from the larger one that held it, running her thumb across the engagement ring. Juliet blushed ever so slightly. She'd taken off the ring for the rehearsal dinner, not wanting to distract from Regan and Cheryl, but had obviously forgotten to leave the tell-tale jewelry at home.

"Congratulations, Shawn," Colleen whispered, a mischievous gleam in her eye.

"Thank you, Mrs. O'Hara," he whispered back, as his future mother-in-law returned her daughter's hand to his in a gesture that he was _sure_ was more than purely physical.

Juliet leaned into him happily, contentedly, as the minister began the ceremony.

...

Shawn was having an enjoyable lunch with Juliet and Gus at Juliet's desk when something at the cage caught his attention.

"Shawn?" Juliet questioned, noticing his diverted attention.

"Mom?" he questioned, setting his food down on Juliet's desk and standing up. He quickly paced over to her. "Mom, what are you doing here?"

"Chief Vick called me in for a consultation and I was in the area."

"You didn't call . . ."

"It was kind of last minute." She pulled him into a hug. "How are you, Goose?"

"I . . . uh . . ."

"Why is he standing there so awkwardly?" Juliet whispered to Gus, observing the interaction. "He's not even hugging her back."

"He probably doesn't know how to tell her," Gus answered.

"Tell her what?"

"You know, about the baby."

"He hasn't told her yet?" Juliet hissed.

"You didn't know?"

"I guess I just assumed he called her."

"He tried a couple of times. When he got her voicemail, he chickened out."

Juliet frowned. "I'm eight months pregnant. As soon as she walks over here, she's going to know," she whispered angrily.

"Mom, I wish you would've called," Shawn responded, re-gathering his senses and doing everything he could to block his mom's view of Juliet's desk.

"I'm sorry my being here is such an undesirable surprise," Maddie commented, obviously hurt.

"No, Mom. That's not what I mean . . . I tried to call a couple times . . . I have a couple things to tell you."

"Is that Gus? And Juliet?"

"Mom, wait," Shawn pled, attempting to block her way.

"Can't I at least say hello before we get into the emotional revelations?" she teased, walking around him and heading straight for Juliet's desk.

Shawn tightened his jaw and followed her.

"Gus, Juliet, it's good to see you," she greeted congenially. "Juliet . . . are you . . ."

"I'm due in June," Juliet responded, curtailing any possible discomfort Maddie may feel from her assumption.

"Congratulations!" Maddie gushed. "And who's the lucky . . . husband? Fiancé?"

"Fiancé," Juliet answered, shifting her eyes to the floor.

Shawn scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. Maddie followed Gus's eyeline straight to Shawn. "It's me, Mom," he relented. "Juliet and I are having a baby and I asked her to marry me."

"Shawn," she responded in a tone that was mingled hurt, shock, and approval. "Congratulations, Goose," she whispered, squeezing his hand. "I can't believe you're going to be a dad."

The corner of Shawn's mouth turned up. "In just a couple months you'll have a granddaughter," he informed, turning to Juliet with eyes brimming with love and admiration.

"Do you want to see the most recent sonogram?" Juliet offered tentatively.

"Of course I do," Maddie answered, blinking back tears. "And can we all have dinner tonight—with your father?"

"Of course," Shawn answered. "It's good to see you, Mom."

...

"Can you believe we're going to be grandparents?" Maddie questioned Henry at dinner that night.

"It's about time," Henry stated, ribbing Shawn. "After all, our son is almost thirty-four years old."

"Physically, anyway," Juliet contributed.

"Jules, you too?" Shawn pouted.

She kissed his cheek. "If it weren't for your boyish charm, we wouldn't be here right now."

"You know that's right," Gus put in, squeezing a lemon into his water.

"How long are you here for, Mom?" Shawn asked.

"Just a few days. I'm just stopping through on my way back to Europe."

"Well, you'll have to come back in June to meet the baby," Juliet invited kindly.

"Oh, of course I will," Maddie stated quickly.

...

The chief walked up at lunch hour the following day to find Gus, Shawn, and Juliet in their normal positions—eating lunch together at Juliet's desk.

"Upon the recommendation of an outside consultant, we are having a team-building retreat next month. Mr. Spencer, Mr. Guster, that includes you."

"A retreat?" Shawn repeated.

"We're going up to the mountains for a weekend. Do you think you can make it?"

Shawn eyed Juliet interrogatively.

"We'll be there, Chief," Juliet answered decidedly.

"But, Jules . . ."

"Good. Details to come." Chief Vick walked away.

"It's a whole month before my due date, Shawn. And we're not in the old west or anything. Even if something goes wrong, we'll have cars and hospitals nearby. Nothing to worry about."

"Do I need to pull up all those YouTube clips of 'As The World Turns' again? Babies are _always_ born in remote mountain locations when there's 'nothing to worry about'."

Juliet rolled her eyes, but before she could say anything else, Shawn interrupted.

"But, you're the mom. It's your call."

"Thank you, Shawn. Yes, it is. And we're going—all of us."


	9. Chapter 9

Shawn and Juliet won the backseat of Carlton's car in the carpool lottery while Gus sat up front. Realizing it was one of the only ways he could sit next to his bride-to-be, Shawn didn't put up much of a fight.

The drive to the retreat center was less than eventful—save for the handful of times Carlton was forced to make an unscheduled stop for the restroom needs of the apologetic mother-to-be.

Until the retreat began, almost everyone invited on this particular division retreat had been basically dreading the event. Forty-eight hours of conversation, sleeping, and meals with the people they saw every single day?

Shawn didn't realize until they were all sitting around the campfire the second night what a privilege it was to work with—quite literally—Santa Barbara's finest. Apart from work, he quite enjoyed most of these people—even Lassiter. Spending time in the mountains with his dad wasn't so bad either. And the extra time to just be with Juliet didn't hurt the situation.

Carlton was telling the haphazard story of how he'd met Victoria in the middle of an arrest and almost managed to bungle both the first impression _and_ the apprehension of the petty thief. Shawn was sitting on a bench with Juliet leaning against him, a blanket wrapped around them both, his attention diverted between the genuine amusement of the story and the beauty of the firelight on Juliet's face.

He noticed her eyes drooping and gently whispered, "You should probably get some sleep, Jules."

She yawned. "If I can _get_ any . . ."

"She keep you up kicking last night?" He stood up and offered his hand to help her up.

She gratefully took the offered hand and stood next to him. "I'm going to try and get some sleep," she announced to the general campfire group. "Goodnight, everyone."

A chorus of goodnights followed as she began the short walk to her cabin.

"I'll walk you to your cabin . . . keep you company while you brush your teeth," Shawn stated casually, as if she'd expect anything different.

Juliet slid her hand into his and picked up the conversation that had been interrupted by their departure. "She got hiccups at five or so and I couldn't get back to sleep. I had to get up a couple times to pee. That was most of it. She did kind of kick a lot, though."

"Maybe she missed me," Shawn shrugged teasingly.

"I'm sure she did. I did."

They'd arrived in front of the girls' cabin and Shawn lightly placed his hand on Juliet's stomach. "Do you know my voice, Baby Girl?" he asked genuinely. "Do me a favor and let your mama sleep tonight. In a couple weeks, we'll get to meet you and we'll all be together. But tonight, do you think you could sit still long enough to let Mom get some rest? She deserves it."

Juliet rubbed his hand appreciatively and opened the door. He hovered nearby, but didn't move. "Aren't you coming in?"

"I'm not allowed," he stated quickly.

Juliet rolled her eyes. "It's well before lights out and everyone else is by the campfire. Just come in."

He didn't hesitate to accept her invitation and soon found himself perched on her bed as she gathered everything she needed to complete her night time routine. "It's going to be a long time before we get to spend another night away from home," she observed absently, heading for the bathroom in the back of the cabin. "Except, maybe, the hospital or my parents'."

"Maybe we should make the best of it," Shawn suggested under his breath.

Juliet poked her head out of the bathroom and raised an eyebrow at him. "I hope you're not suggesting what I think you're suggesting."

He shrugged and awkwardly traced a circle in the carpet with his shoe. "Just a thought."

"We're on a _work_ retreat, Shawn. This cabin doesn't exactly have a 'Do Not Disturb' sign. And don't you want our first time to be when I'm _not_ pregnant?"

"It _was_, as I recall," he stated, raising an eyebrow. "Kind of how we got here unless I've misunderstood some _major_ points of the reproductive process." He heard her spit and rinse a couple times before she emerged—pajama clad, with her hair pulled up and her makeup off.

She walked over to him and wrapped her arms around his neck as he looked up at her, his hands automatically interlocking behind her back. "There will be _plenty_ of time for _all_ of that. One step at a time, remember?"

He sighed. "I thought we threw that out with the engagement."

"No. Just reordered it a little. Now scram! You're taking up valuable sleeping time."

"'Scram,' Jules? Really?"

She swatted him playfully on the back of the head. He stood and took both of her hands in his, swinging them flirtatiously.

"Seriously, though, Jules, if you need _anything_, don't hesitate to come wake me up. I'm right next door. Even if it's a cup of water or a noise that startled you."

"Yeah, 'cause you'd _totally_ be the first person I'd go looking for if there were suspicious noises around."

He shrugged. "You chose me, Jules."

She grinned and kissed him sweetly before sending him on his way, adding, "It was the hair, Spencer."

He briefly considered rejoining the group around the campfire, but decided on some alone time in his cabin instead. With his dad, Gus, and Lassiter all presumably still around the campfire, the empty cabin would give him some time to contemplate the changes that were so rapidly approaching in a life that up until now had meant no more responsibility than possibly coming up with hardly believable excuses for his best friend as to why his car was missing when he woke up in the morning.

Henry was as startled to see his son as Shawn was to find the cabin not empty as he'd assumed.

"Shawn!"

"Dad! You're here . . . and you're not wearing pants . . ." Shawn quickly shielded his eyes with his pillow.

"I'm going to bed, Shawn. This is what I normally wear to bed."

"But most men understand that when you're sleeping in a room with other men, you wear pants—pretend you wear pants _every_ night."

"Don't you ever sleep in your shorts?"

"No," he argued stubbornly, keeping to the 'pretend you wear pants every night' part of his argument.

"Well, then I guess _some_ things have changed in fifteen years."

Shawn sighed and climbed the ladder to his bunk, flinging himself across the bed.

"Something wrong, Kid?" Henry kindly asked.

"Dad, I'd much rather have this conversation with someone who is fully clothed."

Henry rolled his eyes and pulled a pair of sweat pants on over his shorts. "Does this meet your criteria, Sir?"

Shawn ran a weary hand over the stubble that had grown since he'd shaved at home two days before they left. He looked over seriously at his father. "It's getting so much more real," he stated solemnly. "Every day Juliet gets bigger and bigger and our little girl—_our little girl_," he repeated in wonder, "responds to my voice a little more. She's going to be here in such a short time. And then what? How do we know what life needs to look like as a family of three instead of an undefined, impulsive couple?"

"It works itself out, Shawn. You'll know what life changes you have to make. Some of them are more apparent than others. But you'll find a rhythm—a routine that works for the three of you. It won't look like any other family, though. I can tell you that for sure."

Shawn smirked. It was meant to be helpful, but he couldn't help but still feel the slight dig at his . . . less than _conventional_ lifestyle.

"You'll be all right, Kid," Henry concluded with a yawn, zipping up his sleeping bag. "You'll figure it out."

Shawn spent almost an hour staring up at the ceiling of the cabin before Gus and Lassiter came traipsing in. He faked being asleep, only because he didn't want to explain to Lassie why he'd left the campfire circle so early . . . or why there were slight traces of ketchup on his world's best detective mug. When everything eventually settled down, Shawn found himself beginning to nod off and finally allowed himself to slip into a deep, restful sleep.

...

_Rap. Rap. Rap._

"Shawn?"

She waited a few seconds before trying again.

_Rap. Rap. Rap._

"Shawn," she repeated, this time a more pleading edge in her voice.

"Spencer, if you don't take care of this right away, I'll shoot you where you lie," Carlton mumbled.

Juliet cracked open the cabin door. "Shawn?"

"Damn it, Shawn," Henry groaned, rolling over.

Even in the fog that was Shawn's slow-to-wake-up mind, he instantly flashed back to the dozen or so times he'd heard that phrase uttered in _exactly_ that same groggy tone.

Juliet found the porch light switch and flipped it on, hoping she could figure out which bunk was Shawn's.

In response, Gus threw the only thing he could reach at his best friend—a shoe.

"Ow!" Shawn exclaimed loudly, eliciting grumpy responses from all three of his cabinmates. "I'm up," he whispered, sliding off his bed only to trip over Gus's duffel and prompt more angry man mumbles. When Shawn finally got outside, the first thing he noticed was just how dark it still was.

"What time is it?" he asked hoarsely.

"It's just a little after four."

"God, Jules," he moaned, dazedly rubbing his eyes, "is something wrong?" He tried to focus on her face.

"I know it's early and it's a lot to ask, but will you walk with me? Please?"

Even in the dim light offered by the cabin's overhead porch light, he could see she was a little pale.

"Of course," he responded quickly, going back inside to slip on shoes and a sweatshirt. He emerged in seconds with the blanket off his bed to wrap around her shoulders.

This was a routine that had become very familiar to him in recent weeks. Whenever she was in pain—be it back pain, leg pain, or those fake contraction things—whenever she was feeling antsy or nervous, whenever the baby was kicking too much, whenever she couldn't sleep, they walked. Shawn knew which neighbors' dogs barked at them regardless of the hour of the morning. He knew exactly how long it took to walk to the 7-Eleven where he'd often made midnight supply runs. He knew how far away the park—where he imagined he'd be spending many a Saturday afternoon with his little girl in the future—was. He knew how far they had to go before they hit the bus stop where Juliet would often stop and rest.

And he knew just by looking at her in the dim porch light that she hadn't gotten much—if any—sleep.

They walked just out of earshot of the cabins before he asked, "Those Burton-Hickey things?"

"Braxton-Hicks," Juliet corrected, rolling her eyes.

"I've heard it both ways."

"A couple an hour pretty much since I went to bed. For a while it wasn't too bad, but the last couple kind of hurt."

"Not four an hour, right?"

"You _did_ read the book I gave you?"

He flushed slightly. "I read the important stuff . . . signs of labor."

She sighed. "Of course you did."

"Hey, I didn't want to be caught unprepared on d-day."

She stopped abruptly and he watched her close her eyes and rub her stomach.

"Are they a little worse than usual?" he inquired, feeling a bit of panic start to bubble in the pit of his stomach.

She shook her head. "About normal. I'm just so tired I'm not dealing with them as well."

He touched his hand to the small of her back as they continued walking. He still retained a subtle limp from his broken ankle which slowed his pace just enough to perfectly match hers.

They walked until sunrise—at least, what _would_ have been sunrise, had it not been for the dark clouds blocking out any ray of sunshine. When it began lightly drizzling, they started to head back. Shawn pulled his hood over his head and Juliet wrapped his blanket over hers. The rain was hardly intense enough to scare them back to camp, but Shawn wanted to make sure they didn't get caught out in anything more treacherous.

He was right in the middle of colorfully narrating his weekend spent as an ice skating instructor in Maine when she suddenly grabbed his wrist.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, more surprised than anything else.

"What time is it?" she hissed.

He glanced at his watch. "Just after six; why? Don't worry about being late for breakfast; we should be back well before then."

"That was five," she whispered.

"Five . . . five what?"

"Five contractions in an hour," she breathed, barely audible.

He lifted his hand to his head and closed his eyes, replaying their entire conversation since he'd checked his watch an hour ago.

She watched his lips mouthing numbers as he counted. After four, his eyes snapped open and met hers, the grave expression on his face enough to confirm her suspicions.

"We should probably pick up the pace a bit," he advised, his tone low and even.

"We don't need to go to the hospital until I've had contractions every five minutes, lasting a minute each, for an hour. They're, what, twelve minutes apart now and the worst ones are twenty seconds _max_. So we have at least an hour and probably a lot longer."

"But it'll take us probably an hour to get back to camp and we have no way of knowing how quick it'll all go and I'll feel a lot better when we have a car nearby." He gently fingered one of her curls. "I'm not taking any chances with you—either of you." He intentionally omitted the fact that the darkening clouds were making him nervous. He was certain they wouldn't make it to the hospital they'd planned, but he was anxious about getting to one in town.

Every mile they progressed toward camp, Shawn breathed a little easier, though Juliet's breaths were getting shorter, sharper, and far more intentional. When he caught the distant sound of thunder, he felt everything in him tense and his heart rate accelerated.

"We need to keep moving," he blurted abruptly, attempting to keep some sense of relaxation in his voice.

"Give me a second," she growled, bracing herself against him and leaning slightly forward. She turned pained eyes to meet his. "It's getting bad, Shawn. What was that . . . eight minutes?"

"Eight minutes apart, forty seconds long," he whispered.

She resumed walking, trying to keep her pace brisk. "How far do you think we are from camp?"

"Maybe twenty minutes," he answered honestly.

"Two contractions," she translated, her jaw set. "I can do that."

Shawn's tension eased when he caught sight of the clearing that marked the beginning of the cabins, but just as he began to relax, the rain got harder, the sky got darker, and a flash of lightning startled them both and brought them to a complete halt.

"That's not good," Shawn exclaimed, almost as an involuntary reaction.

Juliet obviously paled and lost all semblance of the calm she'd adopted. She squeezed his upper arm as she started to panic. "We need to start driving—now."

He nodded silently and headed to his cabin, intending to ask Lassie for use of his car. Just as he reached his hand out to grasp the doorknob, there was bright flash, a loud crack, a few sparks, and subsequently, the porch light on the cabin went dark. He squinted at the single light bulb, feeling something deep inside him sink. Before he could open the door, it flew open in his face and he met his father.

"What the hell was that?" Henry exclaimed, his voice still raspy from sleep.

"I don't want to know," Shawn groaned, pressing the back of his wrist to his lips as he often did when he was stressed.

Henry had already begun his charge to meet the park ranger and find out what was going on, but pivoted to look back at Shawn. "What's wrong, Kid?"

"Uh . . . Juliet's in labor," he stated, his eyes focused on something far away.

"Damn it, Shawn! I _knew_ you shouldn't have let her come up here."

Shawn bit back his defense and simply turned an entreating expression on his father. "Can we save the lecture? I have a girl and a kid to worry about right now."

Henry nodded brusquely. "I'm going to find the ranger. How close is she?"

"Close enough that we know the baby is coming . . . not close enough to guarantee we won't make it to a hospital.

"You get packed up and get her ready. Detective Lassiter's in the shower, but you should probably ask if he can drive you. I'll find the ranger and see what the deal is with the power." He slapped Shawn's shoulder. "And Shawn?"

"Yeah?"

"Keep your phone nearby. If it gets too close, call an ambulance."

He threw his stuff in his duffel in record time. He was almost finished when Carlton came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel.

"Damn water heater gave out," he hissed.

"Power's out," Shawn responded, zipping up his bag. "Hey, Carlton, do you think I could take your car?"

Carlton froze mid-step as soon as he heard that voice utter his first name. "Spencer, what are you trying to pull?"

"Nothing," Shawn answered honestly. "I need to get Juliet to the hospital."

Carlton's face paled as realization dawned. "I'll drive. Be ready in five."

Shawn gathered his bags and almost ran into Gus as he charged out the door of their cabin.

"Shawn, what are you doing?"

"Baby's coming," Shawn stated, his voice shaking more than he'd intended. "Can you take this stuff to Lassie's car?"

"No such luck, Kid."

Shawn turned to see his dad returning from somewhere in the direction of the main cabin.

"Lightning hit a tree and it knocked a power line out on its way down. It's completely blocking the road. We can't get out and the paramedics can't get in until the firemen can clear that road."

Shawn groaned and dropped his luggage at his feet. "What am I going to tell Jules?"

* * *

A/N: We're nearing the end, everyone. Just one more chapter and an epilogue! Savor it! ;-)


	10. Chapter 10

"What am I going to tell Jules?"

"First we need to get her somewhere warm," Henry stated. "It's getting cold out here and it won't be long before the cabins get cold without the heat running. The baby's going to need something warmer."

"The main cabin has a fireplace. Can we start a fire and go in there?" Shawn offered, swallowing back his fear and attempting to be practical.

"We'll get it," Gus offered, referring to himself and Carlton.

Shawn took a deep breath and began a deliberate walk to Juliet's cabin. The minute she saw him, she knew he had bad news to deliver. She'd only seen that look on his face twice—the day he proposed and when he was about to tell her he wasn't really psychic.

"No," she whispered.

"Jules . . ." He reached a hand out to her.

She grabbed his forearm and began to squeeze it as a contraction overtook her concentration.

"God, no," she uttered.

He placed his other hand on her waist and began talking with a calmness he didn't feel. "The power's out."

"No."

"A tree knocked out a power line and it's blocking the road."

"No," she repeated despairingly, her hands clinching around the fabric of his sweatshirt.

"We can't get out."

"Shawn," she whimpered, burying her face in his neck.

He circled his arms around her shoulders strongly. "And an ambulance can't get in until the road's clear."

She didn't say anything, but he heard a shuddering sob muffled into his chest. She was starting to shiver as the room's temperature continued to drop.

"The main cabin has a fireplace and Gus and Lassie are getting it ready for us. You should change out of your wet clothes and head over there."

"Shawn, I'm scared," she whispered, her grip on his sweatshirt tightening.

"At least we're surrounded by police men and women, Jules. My dad's here, Lassie's here . . . the chief has done this before. We're in good hands."

"But . . . but . . ."

He set his finger against her lips. "No buts, Jules. We're going to be fine. You and the baby will be fine."

Juliet allowed his words to coax her into detective mode: focused, calm, and determined. "I'll change," she stated, her whole demeanor shifting.

"Good. I'm going outside to make a plan, ok?"

"Ok."

He took a couple deep breaths as soon as he was outside the door before throwing up into a bush out of utter panic. "Ok," he repeated, staggering just a bit as he regained his bearings.

Henry, Buzz, Carlton, Gus, and Chief Vick converged around the cabin, Buzz holding a giant umbrella to shield them all from the rain that was only getting harder. Karen held her police radio and Shawn figured his dad must have alerted the chief to the situation.

"Shawn, there's an ambulance waiting to come as soon as the road is clear. The firemen are going to radio the _minute_ they have clearance. McNab, Mr. Guster, I have a list of things we're going to need." She handed a sheet of paper to Gus. "I need you guys to hike past the obstruction. There's a squad car waiting on the other side to escort you to a Walmart in Lompoc. It'll probably take you around two hours, but do the best you can. Hopefully by the time you get back, you can drive right back up here. Detective Lassiter, find a pair of scissors and sterilize them. Gloves, if you can. And something to clear the baby's airway. Henry, find all the towels and blankets that you can. Shawn . . ." She trailed off as Juliet emerged from the cabin.

"I'm not a sideshow," she stated decidedly as six pairs of eyes turned to her.

Shawn tightened his jaw, squared his shoulders, and took Buzz's umbrella right out of his hand. He strode to her side, accompanying her to the main cabin. "How are you doing?"

"Fine," she spat, grasping loose material in the front of his sweatshirt as she hit a point in a contraction that stopped her in her tracks and forced her to focus on her breathing and bite her sleeve to keep from crying out—something she _refused_ to do in the middle of a clearing with all of her coworkers staring at her.

"That was almost fifty seconds, Jules," Shawn informed as they resumed their trek.

"I know, I know. They're getting stronger and longer and closer together," she snapped. "That's what happens."

He opened the door for her and followed behind, heading toward the fireplace. She found two couches pulled together with several pillows and a large blanket comfortably close to the roaring fire.

"Who did this?" she whispered.

"Gus and Lassie," Shawn stated tentatively, not sure whether or not she was pleased with the arrangement.

Her lip trembled ever so slightly. "For being trapped in a campground in the mountains in the middle of a storm, I don't know if I could ask for a more comfortable laboring room."

...

Juliet fought determinedly. As much as she didn't want to deliver her baby in a cabin in the woods, she was well aware that working _against_ her body to prolong the birth in hopes of rescue would not give her _or_ the baby any better odds. Shawn dedicatedly rubbed her back, cooled her forehead or neck with a cloth, and brought her ice chips. He could feel her resolve fading as the clock ticked, every contraction draining a bit more of her strength.

"How long, Shawn?" she pled, burying her head in his shoulder.

Shawn glanced at his watch and answered, "About forty-five minutes since that first sixty-second one."

"I don't have anyone to tell me how far I am . . . six, eight, ten . . . I have no idea how much longer it's going to be," she whimpered.

"Close your eyes, Jules," he coaxed, speaking for the first time without answering a timing question. "We're in the living room, on the couch. She's got hold of my finger and you're tickling her belly and making faces at her, and that does it. We hear her laugh for the first time. Think of that sound, Jules—the sound of our little girl laughing."

She nodded and continued to breathe, though her grip on his hand tightened significantly. "Shawn, my water just broke," she whispered.

"That's good; it'll go faster now," he stated, reaching across to the stack of towels his dad had placed nearby and soaking up some of the fluid.

With the next contraction, she couldn't stifle a low growl. Twenty minutes later, she turned to Shawn and stated urgently, "Get Chief Vick."

Shawn stood immediately and nearly ran to the door, despite the protests of an ankle that hadn't been run on since his attempted escapes from Prescott. "Chief! Dad! Lassie!" he called, almost before the door was open.

It was like a well-rehearsed dance. Henry grabbed the softest towel he could find while Karen pulled on gloves. Carlton set the remainder of his first aid kit—from which Karen had gotten the gloves—on the coffee table nearby and held the turkey baster he'd obtained to suction the baby's mouth and nose, ready for the moment the baby arrived.

"Whenever you're ready, Detective O'Hara," the chief encouraged, ready and waiting.

"You ready, Jules?" Shawn whispered, squeezing her hand. She nodded and took a deep breath. He felt her body tense. He whispered the count in her ear, encouraging her to continue through ten. She moaned and leaned against him, trying to catch her breath. To Shawn, it seemed like everything moved in slow motion from that moment on. He continued to count mechanically for her and, as though through a fog, he heard his father's voice and that of Chief Vick encouraging her, but all he felt was panic build inside him with every extra minute it took. He fought down the nausea that plagued him again as he tried to focus on meeting the needs of the two women that needed him most.

"Henry, hold the towel under my hands, here. She'll be out in a second."

Shawn swallowed hard. In seconds, he'd be a fa . . . fa . . . he still couldn't even think the word without shaking.

"You can relax now, Juliet; she's here," Karen soothed, allowing the baby to rest in Henry's hand as she deftly tied off and cut the baby's cord.

Henry placed the baby in the living chair at his right and began to rub her down. Totally in police mode, he had yet to emotionally recognize that it was his granddaughter.

"Is she all right?" Juliet inquired, slumping back against Shawn.

"Is she breathing?" he whispered, every muscle tensed to hear the cry that would prove everything in his world was ok.

Carlton knelt next to the chair, his hand gently braced against the baby's back, and worked quickly to clear the tiny airway. She let out a piteous wail that struck Juliet to her core and Shawn closed his eyes and took a deep breath for the first time in hours.

"She is now," Carlton answered, slumping against the hearth behind him.

Henry wrapped her in the softest blanket he'd been able to find and tenderly carried her to an eager Shawn and Juliet. "She's perfect, Kid," he whispered gruffly, lightly hitting the side of Shawn's head with his palm affectionately and following Karen and Lassiter out to give the couple a bit of private time.

Juliet was overwhelmed with emotion. She was smiling, though tears were pouring down her face. Shawn's eyes were locked on the baby, his mouth hanging slightly open.

"Shawn, hold her," Juliet implored, reaching for his hand and pulling his arm into a shape fit to receive their daughter.

He sat, stock still and speechless, for what seemed like days before he said anything. "She's so warm . . . and soft . . . and she smells so good," he breathed.

Juliet rested her hand on his arm and leaned up to kiss him. "We _are_ going to be fine."

Shawn's mind jumped back to a scene that had played what seemed like ages ago now, but had been only four months earlier.

...

Shawn had been in the hospital for two days and was anxiously awaiting his release. Juliet was attempting to pass the time by reading over baby names from an app on his phone, but nothing seemed right to either one of them.

"Look, Jules, this poor kid has an outstanding police detective for a mom and a fake psychic for a dad. She needs more than just a common name."

"Well, we're never going to just come up with a name out of thin air, Shawn," she scolded.

He closed his eyes and placed his fingers against his temples.

"You realize you don't have to fool me anymore, right?"

"Shhh," he commanded, lifting an index finger at her to indicate he wanted silence. Suddenly, his eyes opened. "Hallie."

"Hallie?"

"Hallie."

She narrowed her eyes and shook her head. "Where did that come from?"

"Do you have a pen and paper?"

"Of course."

She watched him write for a few seconds before he handed her the pad. His name with the 'ha' circled and hers with the 'lie' circled combined to form Hallie.

"The extra l's just for pronunciation," he informed casually.

"Hallie," she mused, resting her hands on her abdomen. "I like the idea."

"The child of a couple as esoteric as us . . ."

"I think you mean 'eccentric'," she corrected.

"I've heard it both ways."

She shrugged, a subtle smirk on her face. "I guess they both work."

". . . As _unique_ as us," he emphasized, picking up where he left off, "should have a unique name."

"Hallie," she repeated slowly, closing her eyes.

"The perfect mix of our names—like she'll be the perfect mix of us."

"Hallie," Juliet whispered. "Hallie Madeleine."

"Madeleine? Really? You're trying that again?"

"Hallie Madeleine," Juliet repeated, standing and slipping her hand into his. "What do you think?"

"Why my mom?"

"Hallie Madeleine," she whispered, inches away from his face. She kissed him slowly, seductively, before asking, "What do you think?"

"I like that very much," he rasped breathlessly.

...

"Welcome to the unpredictable, undefined disorganization called our 'family', Hallie," he whispered.

"Hi, Hallie," Juliet cooed, fingering the baby's tiny hand. "Are you hungry?" She turned her attention back to Shawn. "I should probably feed her."

Shawn noticeably paled and Juliet smiled compassionately at him.

"You can go outside . . . if you need some air."

He kissed the top of her head and Hallie's forehead gratefully before slipping out the back door of the cabin. He took a deep breath and leaned against the wall. The rain—which had decreased to a light drizzle—felt wonderful on his face. After catching his breath, he pulled out his phone. It rang six times before the voicemail message began.

"Hey, Mom. She's here. She was born in the mountains at a retreat. But she's fine . . . she's healthy. She's perfect. I have a kid, Mom. I'm a . . . dad." He paused, allowing the full reality of saying the word to hit him. "Anyway, I love you, Mom. Call when you get a chance." He ended the call and leaned his head back against the wall.

"Shawn?"

He looked up.

"Did you call your mother?"

"Yeah," he responded simply.

"Are you all right?"

Shawn buried his hands in his pockets. "She's mine, Dad. I have this beautiful, perfect little girl—and she's _mine_."

"Congratulations, Kid." Henry squeezed his son's neck and Shawn allowed himself to be pulled into a hug. "I know _exactly_ how you feel."

...

Gus and McNab arrived and Shawn and Juliet found their peaceful bonding brought to an abrupt end as diapers, clothes, blankets, and hats were placed before them for Juliet's choosing. As Juliet tucked the corner of the blanket around Hallie, the paramedics entered the cabin and Shawn, Juliet, and Hallie were at the hospital in under ten minutes. In the midst of chaos, a nurse arrived with bands to identify Shawn and Juliet as Hallie's parents.

"What should I put on these wristbands?" she asked kindly.

"O'Hara," Shawn answered quickly, as Juliet simultaneously answered, "Spencer."

Shawn turned to meet her eyes.

"Which is it?" the nurse pressed, obviously getting slightly impatient.

"Spencer," Juliet answered determinedly.

"But . . . you said . . ."

"I'm saying otherwise, Shawn. She's _ours_. Hallie Madeleine Spencer."

"Madeleine?" he whispered, the left corner of his mouth turning up in a grin that made her heart speed up ever so slightly.

"You agreed," she teased.

"I was coerced."

"You have a problem with my methods?" she challenged.

"I may take some more convincing," he declared with a shrug.


	11. Epilogue

There was a nervous knot in the pit of his stomach. He smoothed his tuxedo coat one final time. The beautiful bride next to him squeezed his arm encouragingly and they began to walk towards the waiting minister. As they made it up to the altar, he lifted her veil and kissed her cheek. He then offered her hand to the man that stood—

Shawn sat up stick straight. It wasn't right. How could he give her away? It wasn't Juliet. He wasn't giving Jules' hand to another—it was Hallie's. In his still-sleepy fog, he wasn't sure which was worse. He looked over and saw Juliet sleeping soundly beside him. He stealthily slipped from the bed and into the next room over, needing the reassurance that Hallie was still unable to walk—nonetheless glide down a church aisle into another man's arms.

As he stared down at his daughter, he couldn't resist the urge to touch her. She whimpered at the contact and opened her bright blue eyes to look at him.

"Shhhh . . ." he soothed, patting her belly.

She uttered a light cry and he lifted her into his arms, holding her head against his chest.

"We did this all backwards, Hallie," he whispered, walking her from one side of her room to the other. "Your last name is already Spencer, but tomorrow, your mom's last name is going to be Spencer too. We'll all _officially_ make up the Spencer family, Hallie. What do you think about that?"

Hallie cooed in approval.

"Let's see what's on TV, huh?"

He sat down on the couch and began flipping channels. He settled on the episode of Full House where Joey and Jesse attempt to change Michele's diaper for the first time. Shawn chuckled to himself. "They make it look _so_ difficult."

He seemed to have forgotten his own early diapering mishaps as he enjoyed those of the bachelor uncles turned first-time babysitters. As the reruns played on, Shawn lay back on the couch and covered them both with a blanket.

...

Juliet wanted nothing more than to hit the snooze button. She sighed, resolving that she had _far_ too much to do to even _think_ of getting more sleep. The sight that greeted her eyes when she went looking for Shawn brought a smile to her face. She knelt beside the couch and ran her knuckle lightly against Hallie's cheek. Though her only waking resemblance to him thus far was her slight chin dimple and the way her eyes scrunched up when she smiled, she looked _exactly_ like her sleeping father when she slept.

Juliet reluctantly left the scene she felt she could drink in for the rest of her life in favor of showering. The sooner she got ready, she sooner she could start her life as Juliet Spencer.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading and thanks for your encouraging reviews! You made my first attempt at a Psych fanfic feel like a spectacular success. :)


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